Two Paths
by Venea Taur
Summary: Upon being told of his heritage, Aragorn is given two choices: accept or be exiled. Chapter 21 revised.
1. Two Paths

I know that there are many stories like this out there, but this is kind of different. I think that it is slightly AU, but I'm not completely sure. I only own the words and the idea, everything else belongs to Tolkien. Well, there's not much else to say, except please read and enjoy, I hope it's good. Oh, if you're wondering Childhood and Despair are complete, they were meant as single shots.  
  
Estel cautiously pushed the door to his father's study open; there'd been no answer to his knocks, so he assumed that the elf lord was not present. He quickly looked around the room, relieved to find his assumption to be correct. He father had asked him to come to his study after Estel had had a chance to rest from his latest journey with his brothers. He had taken a bath and changed into fresh clothes, his others being torn from a skirmish with a no longer local band of orcs. Stepping in, he shut the door behind him. He looked in awe at his father's study; there was something majestic and surreal about it, something that always made him feel at home. He'd always been able to find comfort inside this room whether his father was there or not. He was startled out of his trance as the door opened. Turning around, he saw that it was his father.  
  
'Well, my son, I see that you are already here. I was afraid the twins might have coaxed you into another one of their games.' Elrond spoke moving past Estel.  
  
'No, I believe they are still busy bathing. It seems that their first bath was a might bit chilly for them.' Estel's voice was filled with mirth as he turned to face his father.  
  
'Hm,' Elrond tried to suppress a smile as he sat down in a chair beside his desk, 'and might I assume that they were not the ones who ordered it.'  
  
'Yes.'  
  
For a moment there was an akward silence between the two, neither seemed to know what to say next. It was Elrond who broke the silence.  
  
'Tell me, Estel, how was your trip?'  
  
Estel looked at his father, cautiously answering, 'It was fine, ada. We found the rouge band of orcs just as was reported.'  
  
'And...' Elrond prompted his son when he did not continue.  
  
"And they are no more. Ada, why is it that you have asked me here? Surely it cannot be to find out about the trip for there are far more easier ways to find out.' Estel asked growing tired of his father's coyness. Elrond looked at his hands, trying to figure out what to say.  
  
'Estel, you have grown much in the past couple of years. In fact you have grown into a fine young man despite your brothers' attempts to stop it.' Elrond trailed off, knowing that wasn't the right way to tell his son.  
  
'Ada? What are you getting at?' Estel asked curiously, wondering what his father was trying to tell him.  
  
'Estel...I...' Elrond fumbled over the right words, not wanting to mess up again, but still unsure of how to reveal such a long held secret.  
  
'What is it?" Estel tried to pry the words out of his father's mouth detecting the seriousness and urgency in his father's voice, 'Has something gone awry?'  
  
'No, but I must tell you something. Something of great importance, but I do not know how to tell you.'  
  
Estel stared at his father, what could be so important? Finally he asked, 'About what?'  
  
'Many things, but most of all, you. I know that you have long understood that I am not your true father, nor is this your true home. Have you not wondered where it was that you were born, thought?'  
  
Estel thought, it was true that he knew that, but it had never really mattered. For all he cared this was his true home, this was were he belonged.  
  
'So that is why you have asked my here, to tell me of my true home and father? That is why you are at a loss for words and have grown worried? Well, worry not, ada. I do not wish to know where I come from, for this is my home, this is where my heart lies and you are my father, the only father I know.'  
  
The elf lord smiled, he appreciated Estel's words and for a brief moment he was struck with an awful thought. Why did he have to tell Estel who he was? He could just keep Estel as his son, but no, that would not be right, he must know, 'Sit down Estel.' Elrond gestured to the chair in front of him, 'I have much to tell you.' Elrond paused to compose his words as Estel sat. 'For years I have struggled with a way to tell you this, yet I have found no other way than to simply tell you that, you are Aragorn, son of Arathorn. 'Estel looked at his father in shock, trying to remember from the history lessons he'd ignored who Arathorn was. 'Arathorn, your father was a great man, but you will be greater for you are destined to reunite your kind and restore the Kingdom of Gondor.' Seeing his son's mixed look of shock and curiousity, Elrond explained further, 'When your mother brought you into this house, your father had just been killed and we feared that you would be next for as Aragorn you were and will be a hunted man. It was then we decided to conceal your true identity, no one was to know who you really were, not even you for such a burden would be too great for a child. The time at which to tell you was difficult, but I knew that you must know.'  
  
This could not be true, Estel thought, he was just an ordinary man. He could not be the leader of his people.  
  
'Why me?'  
  
'It is in your blood, your distant grandfather is Isildur, you are next in line.' Estel thought.  
  
'And what if do not want it?'  
  
Elrond looked at his son in shock. He'd never thought of him refusing. He could not, he cannot, this is his fate.  
  
'Estel, you do not understand, it is in your destiny.'  
  
'But what am I to do?' Estel asked, confused by what he had just learned. He did not want this, he should have a choice, but he was not being given that opportunity.  
  
Elrond was angry, what was he to do? How could Estel ask such a question. There were only two things Estel could do.  
  
'You have but two paths, embrace your destiny or be exiled.'  
  
Estel stared hard at his father as he weighed his options. He loved the family he had here and did not really want to give that up, but it was not fair that he was the one who had to unify his people and restore the Kingdom of Gondor. He did not want such a task; all his life he dreamed of venturing the world with his brothers, no he would not take on such a task, such a burden.  
  
'I elect the path of exile.' Estel finally said. Elrond frowned, bowing his head. He did not want to do this, Estel was his son, but he did not raise him to shy away from duty, Estel was raised so that he would make a humble and noble king. Anger replacing rationale, he began to speak.  
  
'As you wish. When the sun sets on this day you shall be banished forthwith from Imaldris, Lothlórien, and Mirkwood, you are never to set foot on elven ground again on pain of death. Nor are you to speak in either of the elven tongues. You may take your horse, weapons, and possessions, but cannot reveal how or where you got them. Furthermore you may not tell of what you have seen or heard during your stay in the realms of the elves. And lastly, you are no longer to be called Estel and Aragorn for you have forsaken both and so you shall wander the lands of this world nameless until a name is found that suits you.'  
  
'Yes, Lord Elrond.' he spoke defiantly. Standing, he looked at the room once more remembering the good times lost and the happiness the room used to bring. He turned, wishing not to remember anymore, not to let Elrond know that he was sad. But anger quickly replaced the sadness, his anger at Elrond. As he left the room he swore to himself that he would never again look upon Elrond as a father, not as long as he lived.  
  
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And so when the sun had nearly set, he stood beside his horse, tying the last of his possessions to his horse. He did not take much, not even the food offered for he wanted no reminder of elves. Instead he took the few man-made clothes he had, a blanket, his sword, his bow, and quiver full of arrows. The other weapons he possessed were too elvish for his liking.  
  
Mounting his horse he saw there was no one within sight, the lords of Rivendell were angry with him as was much of the house, but he cared not. It would be a relief to finally get out from the ever watchful eyes of the elves. He hated them, their perfectness and gracefulness, they thought themselves the wisest and greatest in the land, the epitome of life. Yes he would enjoy his time from now on, now that he was free. Looking to the west, he saw the sun, it was almost set, the time had come. He whispered to his horse, urging it forward.  
  
As the sun set on this fateful day, it cast the shadow of the nameless man one last time on the land of Imaldris. 


	2. Understanding

I had hoped to get this up Saturday, but alas school has started and I do not have the time I once did. But this is a first for me, I don't think I've ever had a chapter two in a story. Well, I hope that it's as good as the first chapter.  
  
Oh, and I know that Elrond is evil again, but don't worry. He 'll be gone for quite a bit, I think. I've expanded on a lot- this is only part of the original chapter two.  
  
To find out who owns what see chapter one.  
  
Please read, relax, and enjoy.  
  
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Understanding  
  
He rode for many days, sleeping here and there and eating what he hunted. For several weeks he did not find another man, in fact he did not run into anyone, elf, man or dwarf. He wandered the lands until winter came and he encountered a great deal of trouble for he did not have winter clothing and did not have the means to get it. Food was also hard to come by as many of the animals had gone to hibernate during the harsh winter. And so he began to grow thin and developed a nasty cough. It was during the long nights which his cough and hunger pains kept him awake that he began to think.  
  
At first he blamed the elves for his suffering, but then he remembered that he'd chosen this path, however the thought that at this moment he could be in Rivendell sitting beside a warm fire would not leave his mind and he began to regret his hasty decision.  
  
It was during one of these times, when he had seeked shelter from a terrible blizzard in a cave, that everything made sense, he was the only one who could unite his people because he was the only one who knew how and if he did not, then his people would die. He was not the chosen one, he was just the next in line, Elrond had been the chosen one, the one to teach him and make him into a king. He had thought wrong, his fate did not only concern him, but all of Middle Earth. The lives of man and woman were in his charge and if he did nothing then the blood of those people would be on his hands. But he had been arrogant, forsaking his destiny and leaving his people to die. It was he who ahd brought this upon his people and him, he as the reason and for that he was ashamed.  
  
I should be left here to die, he thought, to die a thousand times over for what I have done. He began to cough, mucus stuck in his throat. Sweat started to form on his brow, the coughing taking a toll on his already weakened body. His vision became hazy. A fuzzy figure walked up to him. It was tall, long brown hair flowed gently over its shoulders. The person knelt down, silently looking at him. His semi-conscious mind realized that it was Lord Elrond.  
  
'Lord Elrond, sir. Please forgive me, I now know what I have done wrong. I have learned.' He begged Elrond. Elrond smiled, he brought a hand up. The edan smiled back, Elrond was going to take care of him, he was safe. Closing his eyes he waited for the hand to feel his forehead for a fever, but that did not happen. Instead he felt a sharp sting on his cheek, opening his eyes he saw Elrond beginning to stand. Tears welled up in the edan's eyes, as he realized that Elrond had come to celebrate the end to his pitiful existence.  
  
Darkness began to creep into his sight, as the coughing began again. He fought against the darkness, but alas he lost. His last sight was of a foot, bearing down upon his chest.  
  
Not long after, a company of men happened to pass by and were looking for a cave to camp in for the night. Perhaps it was luck or maybe it was the gods who decided that this man was now deserving of a helping hand, but regardless the company of men found him, near death from starvation and a nasty cold. There was a great debate for the men were fleeing from a large band of orcs and could not risk capture.  
  
'We should leave him to whatever fate has for him.' Emlyn said.  
  
'Nay we cannot. Do you not remember the oath you took, to protect those who cannot protect themselves?' Yestin replied looking up to the taller man.  
  
'And what about those orcs sir? If we stop to save him, then we may be captured.'  
  
'We don't know that. We've been traveling quickly for almost two days now. There's a lot of distance between us, I do not think we will run into them again. Anyway we cannot go much further until this storm lets up, so while we are here, we cannot simply ignore him. Now bring me my pack and get a fire going.'  
  
'A fire sir?!' Emlyn's long blonde hair flew as he turned to face Yestin, 'That would surely give us away.'  
  
'Do you not trust your captain? I do not wish for us to freeze to death, do you?' Emlyn gulped, he hated the cold, ever since he was a child. During one harsh winter he'd been told to watch his younger brother, Aneurin. Aneurin wanted to play with the bigger kids, but Emlyn told him to stay put. He'd gone home about an hour later, forgetting Aneurin. When the snow stopped they sent out a search party, but did not find the boy until the spring thaws came. He'd never left the spot as Emlyn had told him.  
  
Giving in he went to get the pack and to order a couple men to gather firewood. When he returned, Yestin had laid the man fully on his back and had began to take the man's shirt off.  
  
'Get as many blankets as you can. It looks like he's been in wet clothes for some time and I don't want him to get any sicker.' Yestin commanded as he took the pack. He left the man's trousers on as his eyes caught sight of a nasty bruise upon his chest. He felt around, checking for broken bones, silently thanking Ilúvatar when he found none. He was slightly dismayed at the sight of the man's ribs, it was evident that he had gone without food for sometime. Listening to his lungs he detected a slight rattle. He also found the man to have the beginnings of a fever.  
  
When Emlyn returned with the blankets, Yestin helped him to remove the man's trousers and lay the blankets over him. As the men returned with firewood and began to build the fire, he searched for the herbs he would need to help the man.  
  
'Take one of the pots and put some snow in it. Put it over the fire as soon as it is ready. When the water begins to boil, let me know.' Yestin said as he thought. Who was this man or rather boy. He couldn't be very old, maybe sixteen, eighteen at the most. What was he doing here and he'd he get by so unprepared, no winter clothing or pack. Emlyn called to him when the water was boiling. Yestin put the herbs in, gently stirring. When the tea was done, he allowed it to cool so it would not burn the man's throat and gently poured some into a mug. With Emlyn's help he carefully poured the tea into the man's mouth. They gave him the same tea twice a day and a hearty broth three times a day as his meal.  
  
On the fourth day the man began to wake. Emlyn quickly woke Yestin when he noticed the man began trying to move. Moving to his side, Yestin gently began to call to him, hoping to quickly bring him to consciousness.  
  
'Lad?' Yestin gently shook the man, trying to pull him out of his deep sleep. The man mumbled something, Yestin couldn't understand but did slowly open his eyes. As consciousness returned to the man he became alarmed and thought the men to be a dream, a hallucination. Yestin tried to calm him before he wore himself out for he was still very weak. But the man would not calm and so when all his energy was spent he passed into unconsciousness once more.  
  
Elvish used  
  
Edan-man 


	3. Growing Up

Well, I had hoped to get this out last Saturday, but you know the story. Well, I had to work and then I was up until three in the morning to work on AP history and english homework. But I finally got chapter three done, some how. So here it is, not a lot of action, but that will change. Once again I hope that it is just as good as the others seem to be. And I don't own most of this stuff, for a disclaimer see chapter one.  
  
So, please read, relax, and enjoy.  
  
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Growing Up  
  
Yestin was slightly worried by the man's lack of awareness, he did not see a reason for it. The man did not have a fever and had not had one for a few days. Nevertheless he continued the man's treatment, hoping that he would soon wake. And so he was much relieved when the man awoke during the evening of the fifth day. He was groggy at first, but soon became fully aware of his surroundings.  
  
'Where am I?' he asked Yestin as he was brought a bowl of soup.  
  
'Safe.' The man began to open his mouth again, but Yestin stopped him, 'Eat and I'll ask the questions. Who are you?'  
  
The man thought as he ate. He had been told that he was to find a name that fit him better. A name that would tell people of his arrogance and haughtiness.  
  
Yestin began to wonder if the man had forgotten his name- that had been know to happen on rare occasions when someone recieved a terrible head wound.  
  
'I call myself Strider,' the man finally spoke.  
  
'Strider,' Yestin tested the man's name, it was an odd one, 'Well, Strider how is it that you came to be in this cave in the middle of winter without and provisions or winter clothing?' Strider thought, he could not tell the truth, he was ashamed of the truth.  
  
'I was wandering these forests with my horse, Tegan and became lost. I tried for many days to find a way out, but could not. And so when winter fell I became trapped by the first storm of the season. Tegan did not survive the first week of the storm, I barely did by eating frozen berries and nuts, but Tegan would not eat and so began to starve and grow weak. One morning I found her frozen. So I wandered blindly through blowing snow doing whatever I could to survive. Eventually I found my way here where you found me.' Strider quickly finished his soup, handing the bowl to a man. 'And who, if I may ask now, are you sir?'  
  
'I am Yestin, leader of this band of men.'  
  
'Why would such a man bother to save me?' he asked without thinking.  
  
Yestin looked at Strider as he leaned against the cave wall. There was a reason he'd helped him and it wasn't what he told Emlyn. Something about Strider made Yestin trust him, something no other man possessed. He quickly dismissed his thoughts, they would do him no good.  
  
'We had run into a terrible storm, and sought shelter in here, where we found you. While we waited out the storm, I decided that we could not simply ignore you.'  
  
'I am forever indebted to you, you have saved my life.' Strider bowed his head.  
  
'Yes, you are,' he replied curtly, 'I risked the lives of my men to save you. When you are well enough to be on your own we shall part company.' Yestin got up. Strider watched as he slowly walked away. He did not want to be left alone, he did not know how to survive.  
  
'Please, sir, do not let me alone. I do not know how to survive in the wild.' Yestin turned.  
  
'And what do you expect me to do about that,' Yestin asked, his temper was short, 'I do not have the time to train a peasant boy! I have already endangered my men enough.'  
  
Pesant boy! Strider bit his tongue, anger would not help him here.  
  
'You need not train me, I have many good skills, but have never been alone in the wild.' Strider tried to contain his anger.  
  
'Just what are you suggesting, boy. That I take you on as an errand boy?' Yestin came closer, looking hard at the boy.  
  
'If that is what you call it, yes,' answered Strider with a slight hesitation.  
  
'What need do I have for an errand boy?'  
  
Strider did not know, the men were self-sufficient, they did not have need for and errand boy.  
  
'I do not know, sir,' he answered, 'but I am indebted to you and I would wish to repay you, but I do not have anything to do so, except my services however they might aid you.' Yestin looked at the boy's face, he knew he could not leave him here to die, even though he wanted to.  
  
'Alright,' he began reluctantly, 'You've got yourself a job. When you are fully healed you will begin to cook our meals, wash our dishes and any other odd jobs. You will do what ever any of the men tells you to do. For your services you will recieve food and board.' Yestin made the agreement formal, looking at Strider expectantly. Strider agreed and Yestin got up to go about his business. He had to plan their path when they started to move again. Emlyn came to him.  
  
'Are you sure this is a good idea, sir, this taking in of the boy?' Emlyn asked. Yestin thought, he'd let his feelings get the better of him.  
  
'He may be able to do some good. And after he sees the kind of life we live he may decide to leave.'  
  
'What good could a peasant boy do? He lies about his skill- don't you think that he would have managed just fine out here if he had any?'  
  
'He has never been in the wild alone, he said that himself.' Yestin looked up from his maps.  
  
'Sir, why are you so quick to trust him? Perhaps he is a talented liar. But that matters not, we should leave him here his presence will endanger us all.'  
  
'Nay, I do not believe such.'  
  
'But sir, if he is as unskilled as he claims then he will put us in danger.'  
  
'Silence, Emlyn.' anger filled Yestin's voice, 'I have had enough of your comments. Have you forgotten who your captain is. I have sworn to bring no harm upon my men and I shall not.' Yestin sat back a little, rubbing his chin, he had an idea. 'Now if you think that he is so unskilled, then I am appointing you to be his teacher on such skills.'  
  
'But...sir...' Emlyn stammered.  
  
'I expect you to begin tonight. I want to get moving the day after tomorrow.' Yestin spoke as he waved a hand dismissing Emlyn. Emlyn turned to stare at the boy- why did he have to complain? Walking over to Strider, he saw that the boy was still very much awake, intent on watching the activities of the other men.  
  
As he knelt down, Strider backed away. He didn't like Emlyn that much. He seemed too gruff. He knew that Emlyn didn't like him much either. Emlyn fumbled for words, looking at his hands, trying to find the words to talk to the boy. Finally he began.  
  
'How are you doing, lad,' he asked nervously.  
  
Strider looked at him oddly, 'Fine. Is there something you want.' Strider asked when Emlyn failed to continue the conversation.  
  
'Yes...I...well...' Emlyn stammered. There was a long silence between the two, while each looked off in some other direction- focusing on one interesting part of the cave wall. Finally Yestin came out. He knew this would happen, but Emlyn deserved it. He came over to the two who had suddenly discovered their hands.  
  
'What Emlyn is attempting to say,' Yestin as he knelt beside them, mirth filling his voice, 'is that he will be instructing you on the skills you will need during your travels with us. He is concerned about you, ' Emlyn looked at him in shock, ' and does not wish to see you in harm's way.' Yestin added, enjoying the look of anger on Emlyn's face.  
  
Emlyn looked at Strider, surprised to see a look of shock on his face.  
  
'Yes, that was exactly what I wanted to say.' Emlyn said regaining his composure, 'I just had a frog in my throat.'  
  
'Well, thank you for your concern, Emlyn. I'm sure you can teach me a lot.'  
  
'Well then it's settled.' Yestin rose, 'Emlyn will begin to instruct you tonight. I expect you to be on your feet by tommorow morning- the day after we are going to begin traveling once more.'  
  
'Right,' Emlyn spoke gaining his courage as he turned to face Strider, 'We shall begin with basic survival skills. First when you...' Yestin backed away, returning to his maps, as he listened to Emlyn instruct Strider. The boy would need all the skills he could pick up. His scouts had returned bearing very important information, forcing them to make the dangerous trip to the Kingdom of Rohan. 


	4. Coming of Age

Well, it's finally here. I know it's been a while- I though I'd have it done at our homecoming pep rally last week, then I had time at work and then there was this Fall Holiday, but no time- I had homework, this big project for my school's new creative writing class. But I finally sat down and forced myself to write and this is what I came up with, my longest chapter yet- not that you guys really care about my personal life. So please read, relax, and enjoy.  
  
Oh, and dont' forget to tell me what you think of it  
  
To find out who owns what see chapter one.  
  
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Coming of Age  
  
Strider woke early the morning they were set to leave, He had many chores to do before they would begin the day's journey. He restarted the fire, letting the heat build up while he filled a pot with snow to make the men's breakfast. Emlyn had shown him yesterday the way to make their meals. Emlyn really wasn't that bad, Strider thought as he set the pot over the fire, he was just wary of strangers. When the water began to boil, he poured in the ground oats, stirring it gently. As the smell of breakfast filled the air, the men began to wake. Strider left the spoon in the steamng pot of porridge as he went to prepare the horses. After feeding them, he carefully loaded the men's packs onto the horses. Yestin told him last night that they needed to get an early start on their journey.  
  
When he was done, he went back into the cave where the men had finished eating. He quickly poured himself a bowl of the still hot porridge and sat down to quiet his growling stomach. When he finished he cleaned his bowl, placing it back into the pack Yestin had given him. Yestin said that they didn't have much to spare, but it would be easier if he had a pack of his own, just in case something happened. Strider put out the fire, erasing any trace of it and finished up the odd chores he had been assigned.  
  
When he was finished, he went to find Emlyn who he had been told would assign him new chores. While there were no new ones, Emlyn did want to check the camp himself, they could not risk leaving any trace of their encampment.  
  
'Strider!' Emlyn called angrily. Strider did not like the sound of his voice, but he came anyway all the while wondering what he had done wrong, 'Does this look okay to you. Is this the way I showed you last night cover the tracks of a fire?' Emlyn pointed to the ground.  
  
'Yes...s...sir. I...I did it exactly as you told me to.' Strider answered nervously.  
  
'Don't talk back to me, boy.' Emlyn's voice grew as he emphasized boy. The men turned, stopping what they were doing. Yestin heard the angry remarks and came in to find the reason for the commotion. He saw the men intently watching the center of the cave as Emlyn berated the young boy.  
  
'Quit gawking men, go back to your business.' Yestin commanded, approaching the now quieting argument the center of the cave. Emlyn had heard Yestin's voice, he knew their captain was not happy. 'What's the problem?' Yestin asked as he came upon the two men, looking at Emlyn.  
  
'Sir,' Emlyn pointed to the ground, 'the fire, you can still see where it was. And he says that he did it like I told him. This isn't good,' he looked at Yestin, 'someone could find it, we could be tracked.'  
  
Yestin thought as he looked as the ground, silently inspecting the contested area. 'Tracked?' he finally began. 'Who would want to track us and why? We don't leave any trace of who we are, there's no reason for someone who finds this cave to decide to track us.' Strider stood still watching as Emlyn was reprimanded.  
  
'But the orcs!' Emlyn started.  
  
'The orcs don't know we're here. We lost them, they've probably forgotten about us,' Yestin paused, thinking. He turned, 'Come, we've got to go now.'  
  
'What about the fire,' Emlyn called to Yestin's uncaring back.  
  
'Leave it, we need to go, we've lost enough time as it is.' Yestin spoke as he walked away. Emlyn glared at Strider, the boy looking cockily back. Hearing Yestin's call to make their final preparations, Emlyn turned to leave.  
  
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The day's trek had been rather uneventfull. After Emlyn left, Strider had gathered his pack and left to find his place among the men. Shortly after, they set out, only stopping at mid-day to eat lunch from the stored food they had. Now, as daylight was fading Yestin found a suitable campsite and made the call to stop. Strider set down his pack and began to collect wood for the fire, setting off into the slightly forested surroundings while the men set up camp. When he returned, he piled up the firewood, just like Emlyn had shown him. While he finished with the fire, Yestin chose men for their hunt to tonight. Tonight they would not eat from their stores as they had done at lunch, instead they would take advantage of the large game population.  
  
'Strider,' Yestin called. Strider rose from the fire, facing the captain.  
  
'Yes, sir,' he answered.  
  
'Grab your bow and quiver, you're coming with us.'  
  
Emlyn rose from his seat beside the fire, 'Captain, he has not been trained. He does not know how to hunt, yet. I do not think it is wise to take him out tonight.'  
  
Yestin stood, his men watching in silence, as he decided how to deal with Emlyn's outburst. He was very bold to have spoken out, especially in front of the men. Yestin calmly walked over to where Emlyn stood, standing dominatingly in front of him.  
  
'You seem to have forgotten your place, Emlyn,' Yestin quietly spoke, keeping his anger in check, 'As captain, it is my decision to take him out. You've been quite outspoken these past days, tonight you've overstepped your place. Do not let it happen again, I've grown tired of your insolence,' Yestin began to turn away. 'While we are gone, I expect you to watch the fire. Do not let it smoke too much. Pick up your gear, Strider. Let's get dinner.' Yestin walked past his men, picking up his bow and leading the men into the woods. Strider stood for a second before Yestin's words reached him. He slung the quiver over his head and picked up his bow running to catch up with the men.  
  
Strider felt they walked for miles before finally stopping, one of the men had spotted a young stag. Quietly Yestin walked beside Strider.  
  
'Stay beside me and don't make a noise.' Yestin whispered to Strider, 'Bari, move closer. You won't be able to get a good shot from here.' He whispered to the man on his right. The man moved closer, cautiously stepping over broken twigs and bushes. He stopped behind a bush, almost ten yards from the stag. Strider watched silently as Bari carefully pulled an arrow out of his quiver, slowly bringing it down to his bow. Strider's nose began to twitch as he saw Bari notch the arrow. He brought his hand up, holding his nose until the urge stopped. Relieved, he let his hand down as Bari raised his bow.  
  
Slowly and carefully, so as not to make a noise, his hand pulled the string back, increasing the tension on the seemingly fragile strips of wood. A small creak escaped from the bow as it reached its breaking point. The stag moved slightly, looking cautiously in all directions. Bari stopped moving and the animal went back to drinking from the creek. He pulled back the string a little more, making some final adjustments in his aim.  
  
He prepared to let go, when he heard a small sneeze from behind. He turned quickly, it was Strider. Turning back, he saw the rear of the stag as it swiftly leapt away. Angry he returned the unused arrow to his quiver and walked back.  
  
'Alright, men let's go back,' Yestin called out, rising to his feet, 'We'll eat from our stores, the game's been scared away.' Yestin glanced at Strider. The boy hung his head low. He was ashamed of his mistake. He kept his eyes down as the men walked past, each looked at him, shaking their heads. Strider took his place at he end of the line. He knew the men were angry with him, but he didn't mean to sneeze. He knew about hunting, the seriousness of it and the importance of staying quiet, he knew.  
  
At the head of the line, Yestin thought as he lead the way back to camp. He knew that it was a mistake, everyone made a noise once in a while. But it had cost them a lot. Their food would not last much longer, the game tonight would have helped to streach their food out. Maybe it wasn't a wise decision to bring him along on the hunt. Perhaps Emlyn was right after all. He should have left the boy back in the cave, to whatever nature had intended for him.  
  
As they neared the end of the woods, a loud noise began to fill the air. Yestin put a hand in the air, silently stopping the men. He listened, trying to place the direction. Worry filled his mind as he realized that it was coming from the camp. He motion for his men to move out, silently warning them of the danger. Coming up on the outskirts of the camp, he once again motion for them to stop.  
  
'Orcs,' Yestin spat. 'How's they find us?' Strider looked down again as he knelt behind a bush with the men, he knew how. Emlyn was right, 'All right men, let's spread out. Strider you stay here. This fight isn't for a kid.'  
  
Strider raised his head, Yestin's words registering with him seconds later, a kid? Is that what Yestin thought he was. As the men moved out, Strider rose. Noise filling the air as he pulled out his sword, prepared to do battle with the orcs. Running on to the campsite beside Yestin, he raised his sword.  
  
'Go back into the forest, boy.' Yestin called seeing the boy enter into battle with an orc twice his size.  
  
'I'm not a boy,' Strider yelled, shoving his sword into the orc, 'I'm twenty!' He pulled his sword out of the newly slayed orc, moving on to the next. The battle did not last long after Yestin returned with the rest of the men. The orcs saw their advantage over the men dwindling and began to disperse. The men followed them until they were gone. As the men came back, they began to tend to the wounded and pick up the area.  
  
Yestin searched for Strider. He was curious how the boy was doing. He saw him kneeling beside a man. Coming up cautiously on him, he saw that Strider was safe and for the most part unharmed. He stopped before he came within eyesight of the man's face. He curiously watched Strider's ministrations. The boy's hands moved quickly, trying to relieve the man's pain. Yestin became alarmed as the man began to struggle and frighten when his breaths became quick and short. Strider quickly moved to help the man breath, trying whatever he could to ease his struggle. Yestin moved forward quickly, unwilling to lose any man. He stopped as he recognized the wounded man. Strider felt the movement behind him.  
  
'Please help me, sir. I don't know what else to do.' Strider begged his captain. He was afraid, he had never been so helpless. Yestin knelt beside Emlyn, looking at his panicked eyes dart from side to side as he silently pleaded for help. A dagger had been plunged into his throat, blood now pouring from the open wound. There was too much of it to stop the flow, Strider had already tried, the bloodied rags that littering the ground as proof. Yestin removed Strider's hands from Emlyn's weak body, grabbing the slick hands tighter as the boy tried to pull away. Blood squirted onto Yestin clothing as Emlyn tried to take a deep breath, his body shook.  
  
Yestin looked into Emlyn's eyes, he was fading, the pain slowly fleeing from his body. He looked solemnly at his old friend their eyes met, Yestin looked away, grown as he was the loss of Emlyn was too much to bear. When he regained his composure he looked back as blank eyes stared back. Yestin let go of Strider's hands allowing them to fall on Emlyn's torn clothing. He quietly closed Emlyn's eyes. There was silence between the two as Strider kept his head down.  
  
'I never saw a man die,' Strider finally confessed, looking at Yestin's face as tears began to stream down his face. 


	5. Coping

Well, another week (or two), another chapter. This one's a little longer- I seem to have a habit of writing more and more. Hopefully this sounds okay- I've worked on it for a while. So, read, relax, and enjoy.  
  
For ownership claims read chapter one  
  
Oh, and reviews would be nice. Also just ignore the horrible elvish grammar (don't worry you'll find out soon enough.)  
  
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~  
  
Coping  
  
Two of his men had come for Emlyn's body a short while ago leaving an indent of the deceased man on the ground between Yestin and Strider. The young man had not spoken since admitting his unfamiliarality with death. Yestin looked a the man for minutes, the terror in his eyes intriguing him. He did not understand how a mortal like Strider could not be accustomed to death, it was something that Yestin had been fully aware of since childhood. Did Strider not realize that one day he would leave this world. Yestin's thoughts were interrupted by a young voice. Turning he saw that it was Tudor, the young man they had found wandering in the wilds a few years prior.  
  
'Sir, Romney is requesting that we get moving. He fears the orcs might return in larger numbers. We cannot be caught here.' Yestin frowned, he knew that Romney was right, but he feared Strider was not ready. He did not know how the night's events would affect him, if he would be able to put them past him or succumb to his emotions. But such did not matter, he could not sacrifice the needs of one for the safety of many.  
  
'Tell Romney that we shall be ready to leave within that half hour.'  
  
Tudor nodded, quickly turning to report back to Romney. Yestin turned back to Strider. Somehow he would have to get the man moving, he would not leave him here. Taking a deep breath, he started, but Strider interrupted  
  
'You need not worry about me sir. I am ready to go.' Strider spoke, slowly rising. Yestin stared up at him, Yestin did not understand. How could the man, who moments earlier had been weeping and terribly frightened, now be fine. Despite being relieved that Strider was 'okay,' he was concerned by the sudden change- Strider, it seemed, was not really okay. But it would have to do for now, Strider was up and moving- a feat Yestin thought minutes earlier to be near impossible.  
  
'Alright then. Clean up a bit, if you wish. Then grab your gear. We will depart in twenty minutes.'  
  
'Aye.' Strider spoke solemnly as he picked up his sword and headed back to camp. Yestin looked at the ground again. Silently mulling over the day's events and its tragic end, he began to speak softly:  
  
Ai, Emlyn le raen rem sad  
godref lin rem idhrinn  
godref trasta a fuin ú ista an edain.  
Úirpen lin beren ú delu  
goe ú sila  
sui le dar beren a orchal dan pân.  
Nîn estel mellon  
lin ist on nin estel  
a lin goroth beleg aglar.  
Mae le crom  
oaile innas in ista le  
a ú innas in awartha le.  
Nai ir Valar tirith that le  
vi lin lend an man innas aphad  
a heb le thand vi lin and abcvil.  
Garo ú achas nîn milvi Emlyn  
aphad lin hûn  
sui ist boe na lin landrada.  
  
Regaining his composure, Yestin took a deep breath, his was mourning complete. He rose to his feet as if just having washed himself of dirt. Turning slowly, he hesitated, he was not yet prepared to go back to camp. Something drew his eyes to the clear night sky, it was a dim star. He looked at it curiously, it was Eärendil. Why should it wane tonight, on such a clear night?  
  
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~  
  
After conferring for a few moments, Yestin and Romney decided to take the northern route, rather than risk the eastern path which was littered with orc encampments. Romney had also taken their short conference to inform him of the damage they had suffered during the attack. It was not encouraging. They had lost Rhisiart, Reese, Pedr, and Lloyd and another six were injured. They would have to find a safe shelter somewhere quickly as Ffionn and Cledwyn would not survive the five day journey to Rohan with their extensive injuries.  
  
Weighing his options, Yestin took an inventory of his men. Their numbers had decreased rather sharply- from 38 to 33 and with the wounded they were down to 27 effective fighters. Twenty-seven fighters, he thought, that were exhausted and starved from their rush from camp. Yet he knew that they would not quit on him, they would each die for him for they trusted him greatly. Hearing a moan escape from Ffionn who laid on a makeshift cart attached to the back of Yestin's might steed, he called for Romney to come beside him. Speaking with a sense of urgency, Yestin began quietly.  
  
'Romney, the men cannot last much longer. We have gained enough ground between us and any orcs that would wish to pursue us. I want you to take three of the men with you and ride ahead. Find us a shelter where we can spend a few nights while we tend to the wounded. Then send two men back to meet us.' Romney nodded his head in acknowledgement calling for Penrose, Ynyr, and Trysten to follow him.  
  
Yestin sighed, soon his men would have a chance to rest. They would stay only for a couple of nights. If Ffionn and Cledwyn were not fit for travel by then, then they would have to risk splitting up, an idea that Yestin did not like. Their numbers were already decreased as it was, splitting up would only put them at a greater risk. Yet he knew that he must get to Rohan soon.  
  
Yestin turned to check on Strider. He caught the young man's head dropping. Smiling to himself, he watched as Strider bolted upright, catching himself sleeping. He frowned, however, as he took notice of Strider's bloody hands gripping the reins of his horse tightly. He hadn't bothered to changed his stained and tattered clothes. Yestin was wary. Strider did not seem to be aware of his surroundings; he did not even flinch as the wind whipped through his clothes causing them to twirl about him as if surrounded by a tornado. He simply stared ahead, silently watching the land in front.  
  
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~  
  
The men hungrily ate the soup that Strider had prepared from the meat and vegetables they had. When they finished he cleaned up, setting aside a small bowl for himself which he sat down to eat in a corner far away from the center of the camp. It was there that Yestin found him- gently stirring his soup. Yestin fumbled for words, he didn't know how to begin. He knew the best way to help was to talk, but he mustn't let Strider feel like he was being mothered.  
  
'Your wounds must be attended to Strider.' Yestin began. The young man did not answer right away, instead he watched the chunks of potatoes float in his soup.  
  
'Aye, I know.' Strider finally spoke, his voice void of emotion.  
  
'I need to clean and bandage them before they become infected. I do cannot afford to have you fall sick with the others. Will you allow me to treat them?' Yestin rambled, he was still unsure of how to offer help to Strider, he did not want him to feel like a child.  
  
'Do as you wish.' Strider reluctantly consented.  
  
Yestin knelt beside Strider's left side, gently setting down the bowl of water and his pack. He rolled up the man's sleeve and picked up the towel from the bowl. As he touched the fresh wound on Strider's arm, the man pulled back a bit, but forced himself to stay put as Yestin cleaned the wound of the night's dirt and grime. Yestin reached for his pack, pulling out a small roll of bandages and began to wrap the now clean cut on Strider's arm. As he neared the end of the cut, he looked up, noticing that Strider continued to stir his soup.  
  
'You know the soup would do you more good if you ate it, rather than stir it.' Yestin's attempt to lighten the mood fell sharply as Strider refused to speak. 'Why did not you seek treatment for your cuts before we left camp,' he inquired. 'You really shouldn't have traveled with these deep cuts- something could have happened.'  
  
'I would have welcomed whatever happened. I did not think that I deserved any kind of treatment.' Strider muttered angrily. Yestin looked at Strider puzzled, why should he feel that he is unworthy of treatment?  
  
'Why?'  
  
'I'm responsible.'  
  
'For what?' Yestin gently prodded Strider when he did not continue.  
  
'For everything. Emlyn's death, the others dying, the injures, the orcs, the hunt. This entire mess! It's all my fault!' Strider cried back loudly.  
  
Now Yestin understood.  
  
'It is not all your fault,' he tried to soothe Strider's feeling's of guilt. 'Have you forgotten that I was the one who made the decisions, the I am the leader?'  
  
'But I was the one who messed up.'  
  
'Aye, but it was I that chose to take you on the hunt, I that decided to go on a hunt and I that decided to light the fire that attracted the orcs.'  
  
'But what about the fire in the cave, the one that I didn't cover completely. Didn't that attract orcs too?'  
  
'I said that it was done correctly, I decided that it was okay to leave. And I doubt that orcs tracked us from that fire pit. I do not think they have that much intelligence.' Strider smiled a bit.  
  
'What about the sneeze and ruining the hunt?' Strider asked.  
  
'That was you fault,' Yestin spoke bluntly, 'but if you hadn't ruined the hunt, then we would have come back later and the orcs might have caused more damage, killed more men.'  
  
'So I did something right?' Strider looked up, puzzled.  
  
'Indirectly, yes.' Yestin replied cautiously. Strider thought for a minute.  
  
'What about Emlyn?'  
  
'You are not at fault for his death. Emlyn was fighting, protecting the camp and the men from the orcs. The blame for his death and the death of the others rests only on me for I ordered the fire to be built. You merely did as I told you.' There was a silence between the two as Strider thought and Yestin continued to clean his wounds. As Yestin was wrapping the last wound on Strider's sword arm, the young man finally met Yestin's eyes.  
  
'I know that you seek to comfort me and assure me that I am not at fault for any deaths, but I still feel as though I am at fault for something more than a ruined hunt- that it is my fault that we are in this situation.'  
  
Yestin looked into the man's face. How could he get him to understand that it was not his fault, he was merely obeying orders. Why did he feel the need to take the blame. It was not that Yestin wanted it all to himself, it was just that Strider did not need to take on blame?  
  
'Why Strider, do you feel that you must take some of the blame? You must understand that as an errand boy you obey my orders, I tell you to do what I think is right and at the end of the day if you have done all that I have asked, then whatever happens because of it my fault. I told you what I felt was right to do. I believed that we were safe to build a fire, but I was wrong. We shouldn't have built it. I am the one who takes the blame for the deaths and injuries, you are not at fault.' Yestin paused, there was something more he felt he needed to say, 'And in the end when our faults are past and unable to be changed, the best we can do is learn from them. It is useless to try to change- they are done. Instead we take our lesson from it and learn to accept that what is done is done. We cannot change the past.'  
  
Strider thought as Yestin's last words reverberated in his mind, he was right. Whatever happened had happened and he could not undo it- all he could do was learn from it and go on. The past cannot be redone. Finally he felt as though he understood. He was set to restore the Kingdom of Gondor because he was Isildur's heir and nothing he might try would change that for it was his destiny, his fate, he realized. But it was not reassuring- the thought of him one day becoming the king of his people unnerved him- how could he, an ordinary person become king? Why should anyone listen to him- why should they believe him? Yet, despite all of Strider's new worries and concerns he smiled- things had just gotten a little better.  
  
'Alas, I fear that I am once again indebted to you. I only hope that one day I shall be able to repay you for your kindness.' Strider spoke warmly to Yestin.  
  
'Do not worry Strider, the services you provide us with are payment enough.'  
  
'Services? You still want me to be your errand boy?'  
  
'Of course, why should I get rid of someone who can fight against orcs just as well as any one I have know.'  
  
'Aye, sir.' Strider stood, turning to head back to camp. 'Is there anything you wish me to do before I turn in for the night?'  
  
'Just answer me a question.' Strider nodded, 'How did you learn to fight orcs, I thought you were did not know how to survive on your own. That fighting looked like you're pretty used to the wild.'  
  
Strider suddenly felt trapped, he could not tell the truth- that he had fought with elves. Feeling the pressure of Yestin's staring eyes, he forced himself to come up with a lie.  
  
'Orcs roamed often roamed near my home. I was sent out at a young age with my brothers to hunt the orcs.'  
  
Yestin watched Strider as he walked back to camp. The story sounded plausible, but something told him that it wasn't the truth. There was something that told him that there was more to Strider than what was being told, but he couldn't place his finger on it.  
  
For the second time that night Yestin was drawn to the night sky. It was now cloudy, yet the stars shined brightly even Eärendil . He was puzzled, earlier it was dim even though there were no clouds in the sky and flickered as if something was troubling it. But now it shined brightly in the early morning sky even through the scattered clouds that had drifted across the sky. How odd, he thought as he smiled, it should be dimmer now, not brighter. Something had happened that night- something odd and yet miraculous.  
  
Elvish translation of Yestin's prayer  
  
Ai, Emlyn you wandered many places  
through you many years  
through dangers and darkness unknown to men.  
Yet your courage never wavered  
fear never shined  
as you stood brave and tall against all perils.  
My most trusted ally  
you wisdom gave me comfort  
and your caution great ability.  
Though you have gone  
forever will I remember you  
and never will I forsake you.  
May the Valar watch over you  
in you trek to what shall come next  
and keep you safe during your long afterlife.  
Have no fear my kind Emlyn  
follow your heart  
as wisdom shall be your guide. 


	6. Unexpected

Somehow I found time to update, maybe it was because of final's week (I had three easy tests because I'm a senior). But I hope this is worth the wait, I know it's short, but (is anyone even reading this) check back Monday, I've got another chapter ready to go, but you can't have it yet.  
  
Please excuse the horrible elvish, the translations are in //...//.  
  
For the disclaimer see chapter one.  
  
Please read, review and relax.  
  
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~  
  
Unexpected  
  
-Five Months Later-  
  
'That's it, Strider,' Romney commended Strider as a smile spread across the young man's face. He let his guard down for a second and Romney took the chance to strike at him, coming within inches of his throat. Strider stopped, the smile disappeared from his face- it'd happened again. 'How many times have I told you? Don't let your opponent get to you, whether he compliments you or sneers at you, you must ignore his words. Now try it again.'  
  
Silently berating himself, Strider raised his hands once again. It had been like this everyday for at least a month now. In the morning sword skills, not the ones he'd learned from the elves, but ones that would help him fight in a real battle, ones that were designed for men. They were practical moves, purely designed to get the job done in the most efficient way. And in the evening, when they were settling into camp for the night, it was hand-to-hand combat. Strider enjoyed this the most- the elves never taught him how to fight with his hands. After all an elf never ran out of arrows or blades.  
  
'Good job,' Romney once again commended the young man, but this time Strider ignored the remarks. He would not fall into that trick again, but now Romney pulled a new move on him, slamming his fist into his side. Strider clutched his side, falling to the ground as a sudden wave of pain washed over him. Romney quickly dropped to his side, worried he had hurt Strider.  
  
'Strider,' he asked, 'are you okay?' He watched Strider, waiting for an answer. Finally Strider spoke.  
  
'Yes,' Strider tried to control the throbbing of his ribs, 'it just surprised me. I didn't expect the punch,' Strider sat up, his hand still holding his side.  
  
'Neither did I,' Bari spoke, walking towards the two before crouching down to meet their gaze. 'That was a pretty tough move, Romney.'  
  
'I know, I know, but it'll help him. You know, expect the unexpected, that's the key to mastering hand-to-hand combat.'  
  
'Still I think that's enough for this session.'  
  
'Right, I have to get to my watch anyway,' Romney rose. 'Tomorrow I'll teach you that move, alright?' Romney walked back to the camp.  
  
'Strider, let me have a look at your side. That move of Romney's packs quite a punch.' Bari said as he began to lift up Strider's shirt. 'Yestin would not be happy if we have to halt our travel due to injuries.'  
  
It had been like this for quite a while now. The men had taken a liking to him, teaching him new tricks, watching over him during the days and coming to his aid during battle.  
  
'Does this hurt?' Bari asked, pressing lightly on his side.  
  
'Not much,' Strider answered stiffly.  
  
'How about this?' Bari pressed on another spot.  
  
Strider hissed slightly, biting back the pain from Bari's continued prodding.  
  
'Nay,' Strider spoke, teeth clenched. Bari stopped, hearing Strider. He gave him a look of disbelief.  
  
'Strider, do not lie to me,' he waited for an answer, but Strider remained silent, so he finished his examination.  
  
'No serious damage,' Bari began, putting Strider's shirt back down, 'just a little sore. You'll probably develop a nice bruise.'  
  
'Thank you, ' Strider did appreciate their kindness, but he wasn't a child, he could see to his own wounds.  
  
'No problem.' There was an awkward silence between them.  
  
'Well, I've got to get going. The men are probably starved,' Strider stood.  
  
'Right and I've go to see to my horse.' The two nervously departed.  
  
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~  
  
The evening passed by without event. The men ate the meal Strider prepared and Strider cleaned up afterwards. After seeing to his horse, his last chore of the day, Strider set down to have a smoke from his pipe, something Yestin had taught him. He had been uncomfortable with it at first, but after a while it had become habit. It relaxed him, especially after a hard day like today. Settling into his seat on the ground, he closed his eyes, allowing the sweet smell of the smoke to soothe him. He drifted off; everything was calm and peaceful; nothing was happening except for a quiet scuffle across the camp- two elves it seemed. Ah yes it was elves- one didn't want to let the other pass for he had just come up.  
  
'Im faeg le ú trasta.'  
  
//I mean you no harm//  
  
'Anna men lin eneth randir o ir edhellen lam. Ped na hortha.'  
  
//Give us your name stranger of the elvish tongue. Speak with speed.// 


	7. Foiled

Once again an update. Hopefully this is habit forming, but don't get your hopes up, not with three AP's and one honors class. Hope you enjoyed your three day weekend (if you got it, but if you didn't hope you had a nice weekend anyway), I know I did. I saw ROTK for the third time, but anyway onto the story.  
  
As usual, please excuse the horrible elvish, the translations are in //...//.  
  
For the disclaimer see chapter one.  
  
Please read, review and relax.  
  
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~  
  
Foiled  
  
Wait, something finally clicked in Strider's semi-conscious mind. These men couldn't be elves; their voices were too gruff. And what about this strange man with the elven tongue? He listened carefully.  
  
'Im Geraint, toger o ir Dúnadan.'  
  
//I am Geraint, Captain of the Dúnadan.//  
  
Suddenly the man put down his weapon and put out his hand to greet Geraint.  
  
'Mae govannen Geraint,' the two clasped each other.  
  
//Well met Geraint.//  
  
'Mae govannen Penwyn. Im baur ped na Yestin alag.'  
  
//Well met Penwyn. I must speak with Yestin urgently.//  
  
'Forn hi athrad'  
  
//Right this way.//  
  
Elvish, why should these men speak elvish, Strider thought. There was only one group of men he knew of that spoke Elvish and those were the rangers. But these men could not be the rangers, surely it was just a figment of his drug-induced mind.  
  
Penwyn led his former Captain through the camp. Geraint looked at Yestin's men, they were young, much like Yestin. In fact most had been picked up by the youthful ranger along the way, but nevertheless fought just as well as any ranger. As they walked pass the first, his eyes took notice of a familiar face. It was that of a young man, relaxing as he smoked his pipe. It reminded him of someone he once knew, someone that had died long ago, but he couldn't recall.  
  
'Who is that man,' he whispered quietly to Penwyn.  
  
'That's young Strider. Yestin picked him up almost five months ago. Strange fellow, he is,' Penwyn stopped moving.  
  
'Strange? How so?' Geraint began walking again.  
  
'I can't really say. When we first picked him up he said he couldn't survive in the wild. But just a week later he battled against orcs just like he was one of us.'  
  
Geraint rubbed his chin, thinking as they came to Yestin's tent.  
  
'He's hiding something,' Penwyn spoke before walking over to the rock Yestin was using as a table to study maps, 'Captain,' he spoke quietly, 'Captain Geraint of the Dúnadan wishes to speak with you.'  
  
Yestin turned from his maps, he did not recall the name, but instantly recognized the face of his old captain.  
  
'Mae govannen Geraint.'  
  
'Mae govannen Yestin.'  
  
' You may leave now,' Yestin told Penwyn. As Penwyn left, he returned to his maps. 'What is it you need to speak with me about?'  
  
'A very urgent matter,' Geraint walked over to Yestin, 'but first I must inquire into the identity of that young man by the fire. Penwyn tells me that he is called Strider.'  
  
'Yes, that is the name he gave to me, though I do not believe it to be true.'  
  
'So you have the same feelings as Penwyn.'  
  
'Many of my men do. We have all found Strider to be odd.'  
  
'How did you come across him?'  
  
'We were seeking shelter from a terrible winter storm. He was in the cave we sought shelter in and I felt that we couldn't leave him there as he was sick. When he had regained some of his strength, he told me that he could not survive in the wild alone, so I made him an errand boy. The men have taken a liking to him, he is being taught many skills for battle. He shows unusual talent with a sword and possesses an odd gift for dealing with horses. Why do you ask?'  
  
'There is something familiar about him, something that reminds me of someone I once knew very well. Has he show any other unusual talents?'  
  
'Nay, but I have felt strange around him, something seems to pull me into helping him even when I do not wish to.'  
  
Geraint took in Yestin's words, considering them carefully. There was a pause.  
  
'But anyway,' Geraint continued, 'I've come seeking your help. There is a band of men harassing a local village. We were entering the village when they launched a surprise attack and overpowered us. Eleven of my men are now being held captive by them and the rest are either healing from wounds or lying in wait.'  
  
Yestin didn't even need to think- he couldn't resist helping his old friend, 'Where are your men?'  
  
'Not more than a day's walk away. They remained to keep the villagers safe until I could return with help.'  
  
'Come then, let's not keep them waiting.' Yestin said eagerly. 'Romney!' his second turned his head, jogging the short distance between them.  
  
'Yes, sir?'  
  
'I want you to prepare the men for battle. We'll set out in an hour.'  
  
'Yes, sir.' Romney turned quickly, calling to the men. As they began to hurry about, packing up camp and preparing for the night's trek, Geraint and Yestin started to plan.  
  
'Tell me a little about the terrain,' Yestin inquired, wanting to get an idea of his battlefield.  
  
Geraint turned over one of the maps Yestin had been looking at and began to draw a crude map of the terrain around the village.  
  
'Our battle took place in the plains directly south. When they overpowered us there was no way out for there is a small, yet nonetheless powerful river running northwest. We could not escape to the east either for a thick forest runs north on the east side of the village. The only break is a small clearing, but they blocked that too. Our only path of escape was the hill we came down. But it slowed our escape as the hill is more steep than most.'  
  
Yestin studied the crude map.  
  
'The key,' Yestin thought out loud, 'would be a surprise attack.'  
  
'That will be extremely difficult. These men are cunning. We did not see them stalking us as we walked into the village.'  
  
'What types of weapons do they use?'  
  
'Any kind, whatever will kill, maim, or mortally wound.'  
  
'Then they are true barbarians,' Yestin tried to quell his growing anxiety.  
  
'Aye,' Geraint was exasperated.  
  
'Sir?' Romney came up behind them, startling them out of their conversation. Both turned their heads.  
  
'Yes?' Yestin asked.  
  
'The men are ready.'  
  
Yestin looked at the moon. 'A half hour has not even passed.'  
  
'Aye, sir. Shall I tell them to stand down for another half hour?'  
  
'Nay, we shall be done in a few moments. Prepare Geraint's horse as well.'  
  
'He did not come with a horse sir.' Yestin turned to Geraint, surprised by the old man's vitality.  
  
'The rouges scared them off. We were left with very few horses and most were extremely tired. I dared not take one out.' Geraint spoke.  
  
Turning back to Romney, Yestin ordered a horse to be prepared for Geraint.  
  
'All right,' Yestin began, turning around as Romney left. 'We could trick the rouges into thinking you're trying an attack on your own. Those of your men who are able to fight will lure them out of the village by making a head on attack.' Yestin pointed on the map. 'Then my men will split into three groups- two big ones and one small group. The first big group will attack from the west. Then once we've got them thinking that these are all the men we've got, the second group will come out of the clearing in the forest on the east. In the meantime, the small group will come from the west across the river, go into the village and rescue your men. Afterwards we'll regroup and make way to a new camp for the night.'  
  
'Sounds good.'  
  
'Alright, then let's go,' Yestin turned to face the camp, telling the men to mount their horses.  
  
'Romney, Bari,' Yestin called as he and Geraint mounted their horses. As the rangers began to move out, Romney and Bari caught up with their captain who rode with the Dúnadan captain at the head of the group.  
  
'Yes sir?' they spoke nearly in unison.  
  
'We've come up with a plan that should throw the rouges off; give them a good surprise. When we arrive at the camp, I want the men divided into three groups. One group smaller then the other two. Romney you will lead this group into the village from across a nearby river, but be careful it is very powerful. Lead the men in only after most of the rogues have left, not any sooner. You should only need five or six men. Bari you'll head one of the larger groups. Wait on the east side of the river until Geraint leads his forces down the hill. I will be waiting in the forest on the east side of the village. I'll come down through a small clearing. Once the battle is over and the men rescued, we will regroup and make for a new campsite. Any questions.'  
  
None sir,' Bari spoke.  
  
'Just one sir,' Romney said. 'How many men am I to be rescuing?'  
  
'Eleven.'  
  
'Aye, sir.'  
  
The two began to turn back so as to make plans for the upcoming battle when Romney turned.  
  
'Oh, and sir?'  
  
'Yes,' Yestin turned, slightly annoyed at being pulled away from the conversation he was just beginning with Geraint.  
  
'Where should young Strider go?'  
  
Yestin thought for a moment, though the young man had showed considerable improvement with the hand-to-hand combat and hunting, he did not want to risk the rescue being foiled.  
  
'Stick him with me. I'll make sure not harm comes to him.'  
  
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~  
  
Yestin sat upon his horse, the rising sun bearing heavily on his back, waiting for the charge by Bari's group. As soon as they had reached the camp, Yestin had pulled out the map to show Bari and Romney the terrain and ensure that everything would go as planned. Afterwards the men were divided into groups and got to their positions, leaving Geraint to prepare his men. Some seventeen of his normal forty would be fighting. Two of the men agreed to stay behind to look after the ten injured men.  
  
He turned his attention back to the battlefield; Bari had led the second charge. Now it would be his turn.  
  
He turned to look at his men, they showed no fear despite the knowledge that some of them may not return.  
  
'Men,' Yestin began loudly, 'brothers, today you will fight evil much like we have these past years, but this is different now, you will not be facing groups of ordinary men. These are barbarians, true monsters of war and hate. They shall not grieve for your death and nor shall you for theirs,' Yestin paused. 'I know that I do not have to tell you of the courage and honor that you possess. But do not forget that it is such honor that shall lead you to victory over them. Hold onto your courage and do not look back,' Yestin pulled out his sword. 'Onward to victory,' He yelled as the charge began.  
  
Yestin glanced at the trees, they began to blur as their pace quickened. The battle was close; they were closing the distance with every second when a sharp cry was heard. Yestin carefully turned, trying to discover the source of the noise. His eyes met Ffionn's; there was an unusual emptiness to them and his horse swayed oddly for the horse master. He muttered a curse, as the horse swayed enough to show the arrow protruding from Ffionn's back. He quickly turned back, feeling his own horse sway to the side. He quickly pondered the origins of the arrow before turning around even farther. He cursed the sight; behind them were nearly two dozen men on horseback bearing down upon them. The surprise had been foiled. 


	8. Honor and Integrity

You don't know how terribly sorry I am that I was so late with this, but I had a lot of school work, then college plans and graduation. All in all, it was one busy second semester. But it's here and extremely long, for me at least. Um..., I'm not so sure about the rating on this, perhaps I should make it R, tell me if you think it should be.  
  
I'm not so sure how this will be, I've never done a battle sequence before, but please read, relax and review.  
  
For disclaimer, see chapter 1.

* * *

Honor and Integrity 

The men were confused, Yestin could see it. He weighed his options quickly. If they were to continue down to the battle, they would likely be overtaken, but if they didn't go then Bari and Geraint would be overtaken. The question was which would result in fewer deaths.  
  
Fate, however, didn't wait on him to decide as the first of the rogues began to descend upon the back of his men and the sound of clanging metal filled the wooded landscape. But they continued to ride on until they neared the clearing when Yestin finally gave the call to turn around. In a heartbeat his men turned their horses and launched their attack on the rouges.  
  
Yestin raised his sword, deflecting the downward slash of an axe. Before he could get the sword back into position to strike, the axe came down again forcing him to duck. His knuckles turned white as he held on the reins of his horse, trying not to fall off, yet still dodge the blow and raise his sword in attack. As he rose, he looked up at his enemy, noticing for the first time that a mixture of blood and human flesh clung to the blade.  
  
His stomach turned as he tried not to think about who had been on the receiving end of the blow, which one of his men had died. But thinking about the death helped him for it angered him and he rose defiantly as he sat on his horse. He brought his sword back and in one single stroke, sliced the man's head off. Blood spurted out of the man's neck, splattering on Yestin's face as he moved on.  
  
Meanwhile Strider was dueling with another one the rogues. The rogue obviously had the advantage for he was bigger and had a far more dangerous weapon. In one hand the rogue had a metal cylinder that was attached to a chain, which held a spike. The man flung it around with dangerous speed, forcing Strider to keep his distance, he'd already seen what the spike could do as it had hit his horse.  
  
The poor creature had collapsed on the ground bleeding from several cuts where its flesh had been torn by the spike. Angered Strider had risen and slashed at the man, and had nearly been hit by the vicious orb, but had been rewarded when the man fell from his horse. Now the two were dueling on the ground, with Strider doing more retreating than advancing.  
  
As the rogue brought the spike up again, Strider took another step backwards to dodge the blow, but instead ran into a tree. He panicked as the man smiled, showing his yellowed teeth. Strider quickly stepped to the side, as the man gleefully brought the spike down. But he was too late as the spike collided with his back, sending him flying to the ground. He slid on his stomach across the grass as pain washed over him. He could feel as the spikes sunk into his flesh and then ripped through his skin as he was sent flying.  
  
Regaining his senses, he tried to push the pain away and concentrate on the battle before him. He had to get back up; pushing off on the ground with his hands, he quickly rose to his feet, clenching his teeth as his back protested against the movement. Turning, he ducked below the swipe of the spike. When he heard it pass over him, he rose and raised his sword. He could see his chance, the man was growing tired.  
  
Grasping the hilt of his sword with both hands, he shoved it outwards swiftly and was rewarded with the sound of the blade splitting open the man's skin as it sunk into his stomach. Strider had turned the tables; now the rogue was in pain and soon collapsed to the ground, dropping his spike as he fell. He clutched his stomach and moaned as Strider pulled the blade out and raised it to end the man's misery.  
  
Strider once again pulled the blade out of the rogue and quickly moved on, easily crossing paths with yet another rogue, this time bearing a more reasonable weapon: a sword and though it was long, at least it was not a spike, Strider thought. He parried and thrust in every attempt to gain the advantage, but was often forced to deflect and block most of the time. Trying to draw from the lessons learned in his previous battle, he pushed harder, desperate not to get backed into a tree again.  
  
He quickly dodged a downward blow and thrust his blade up towards the man's stomach. The man parried, but not quickly enough and Strider was able to gain some ground. Strider raised his blade before his opponent had a chance to recover and cut a deep gash on the man's back and shoulders. Crying out in pain, the man sank to the ground losing consciousness soon after.  
  
Raising his blade once again, Strider scanned the area for another rogue when his eyes caught hold of two men fighting on the other side of the clearing. He recognized one as Yestin and from what he could tell, Yestin was not fairing well, being knocked back repeatedly by the stronger and more powerful man. If something was not done, Strider knew that Yestin would lose the fight, if not first from a wound from sheer exhaustion.  
  
So he took off running to where Yestin fought, but he was stopped when a rogue came across his path. The man swung his axe at Strider, who felt the slight breeze from the blade cutting through the air as he quickly dodged the blow. Lucky for Strider the man was unable to recover as quickly as he was, allowing Strider to force his sword down the man's back. The rogue cried out it pain, quickly collapsing on the ground as the sword was pulled out. Leaving the man to writhe in pain, Strider continued on to help Yestin.  
  
When he arrived, Yestin was lying on the ground, one hand on his stomach trying to stench the flow of blood coming from the wound there and the other weakly holding his sword. The man who had made the incision stood over him, grinning evilly as he prepared to bury his sword in Yestin's chest. Strider pushed off the ground, lunging at the man with all of his strength. As he neared the still oblivious man, Strider pulled his sword back, hoping to pierce the man when he landed on him.  
  
Unfortunately, the man turned before Strider landed and moved to the side. He was not quick enough, however, and was caught by Strider who barreled into the man's side, but was unable to hit him with the sword. The man lay on the ground, dazed for a second as Strider picked himself up and readied himself for a fight, bringing his sword into an attack position.  
  
The man rested on his knees and fists, shaking his head to bring himself back to reality. He couldn't believe that he'd just been knocked to the ground by a kid. Newfound anger flowing through his veins, he rose and grabbed his sword as he turned to face the boy who'd knocked him to the ground. Strider stood there, an air of confidence surrounding him. The man grinned, ready for the challenge and began to approach, his sword glaring menacingly in his hand.  
  
Strider's confidence began to fade as he realized that he was slowly backing up. He stole a quick glance at Yestin. His captain was trying to get to his feet, but the loss of blood coupled with the pain from the stomach wound was making it impossible. As he sank back to the ground and resigned himself to lying there, he met Strider's glance. Strider saw the pain and anguish in Yestin's eyes, but he also saw the courage and fearlessness earned from years of experience.  
  
He took that courage and planted his feat firmly in the ground, thus stopping his cowardly retreat. But the man was still coming closer. Strider felt his newfound courage slipping, however tightened his grip on the hilt of his sword and prepared for the battle. As he came closer, the man raised his sword and brought it down on Strider, who raised his sword level with his head to meet it.  
  
The swords clanged loudly overhead; the man's stroke had been powerful and made Strider's already tired arms shake as he tried to hold off the blow. Somehow he managed to and the swords fell to the side with the two racing to setup for the next shot. Strider, however, was quicker the second time and thrust his sword at the man, but the waist-level thrust was easily deflected by the stronger and more powerful man.  
  
Taking advantage of Strider's shock, the man brought his blade down on Strider. Strider heard his bones crack as the flat side of his sword struck his right shoulder, his sword arm. His mind grew hazy as the pain from the harsh blow registered all at once. He dropped to his knees, his left hand pressed into the ground to keep himself from falling face first into the dirt and his right arm clutching his stomach to stop unnecessary movement.  
  
As he tried to calm his breathing, he felt the man standing over him and could feel a slight twinge in his back as the sword hovered overhead, ready to strike. Time seemed to slow as he glanced over at Yestin once again. His captain was lying on the ground still, hovering between consciousness and unconsciousness. This was the man who had saved him from death, who had taken a chance on him, who had taken him on without even knowing who he was or why he was out here. Yestin had trusted him; given him hope and Strider would not allow him to die.  
  
Steeling himself against the pain, he grabbed his sword with his right hand and rolled out from the steady gaze of the sword and just in time too as the man had finally brought the blade down to deliver the final blow. He stayed on the ground for a second longer, trying to rid himself of the shock from having narrowly escaped death. Strider tried hard not to laugh at the scene before him as he stood.  
  
The man had put so much force into his downward thrust that his sword had sunk halfway into the ground and now he was desperately pulling at the hilt to get his only weapon out of the ground. Strider saw his opportunity and ran towards the man, hitting him on his side and slamming him into a nearby tree. Dazed and confused, the man shook his head and tried to get up when he saw the younger man kicking at the ground the held his sword.  
  
Strider had seen this done before when his brothers... no when Lords Elrohir and Elladan were sparring once and Elladan had gotten his sword stuck deep in the ground. Elladan tried pulling at it, when Elrohir stepped in and started to kick at the ground where the sword was stuck. After just a few kicks, the ground was loosened up enough and they were able to pull the sword out.  
  
When Strider felt the ground give a little, he reached out with his empty hand to pull the sword from the ground and tossed it beside the man who was still trying to figure out what was going on. But he didn't hesitate at the second chance, reaching for the sword as Strider backed a little, giving the man room to stand.  
  
Wearily, the man used the sword to push himself off the ground and stand with it ready to strike Strider, who also stood ready for the second battle. As usual, the man made the first move, charging with his blade stretched out in front. Strider easily stepped aside and stretched his own sword out, slicing through the skin and muscle of the man's stomach.  
  
Adrenalin kept the man running past until a few seconds later when his mind registered the pain from the mortal wound and he collapsed on the ground. As he concentrated on ignoring the pain and feebly tried to stench the flow of blood that was now seeping out of the long cut on his abdomen, he felt the younger man come towards him, raising his sword to deliver the mercy hit.  
  
'Why do you do this boy?' the man asked as he realized for the first time who he had been fighting. 'Don't you know that I don't deserve mercy?'  
  
Strider froze, the man's voice was gruff and harsh, but his words rang clear. He did not deserve mercy for he possessed no sense of honor or integrity; he did not hold himself up to any sort of standards, and nor did the men he traveled with. He invaded villages, pillaging and ransacking the homes of innocent people for the pure pleasure of it.  
  
After a long day of fighting, he went to the local tavern where he got drunk and then took some woman to bed, not caring who she was or how much she protested. There was not a single honorable bone in this man's body. Strider glanced at Yestin, now unconscious. He could let this man suffer as he slowly bled to death and his captain would be none the wiser. It was then he remembered what his father...no he corrected himself, Lord Elrond had told him.  
  
_Begin Flashback  
_  
Estel shoved open the doors and ran in, not bothering to shut them. He left muddy tracks as he ran past Elrond, up the stone steps to his room. Bewildered, Elrond looked around at the entrance, it had just been cleaned. Sighing, he called for one of the house workers to clean up the mess and followed his son. When he got to Estel's room the door had been slammed shut and silence emanated from the room.  
  
'Estel,' he called calmly, but there was no answer. 'Estel,' this time he was firmer, but there was still no answer. 'Estel, open this door at once, do not ignore me.' Elrond stood for a second, until he heard Estel get up and walk over to the door. Estel slowly open the door and looked up at his father.  
  
'What happened? Why did you tear through the hallway?' Elrond asked.  
  
'You wouldn't understand,' Estel muttered. Elrond sighed, it seemed that the older Estel got, the less Elrond understood.  
  
'Oh, I wouldn't,' he spoke kindly. 'May I come in?' Estel nodded and turned. As Elrond stepped in, he placed his arm on his son's shoulders. 'Why don't you try me?' Estel picked up a toy from his nightstand to fidget with as he stepped away from his father. Elrond stood waiting for his son to begin.  
  
'I was outside playing with Halmir. We were dueling, when he distracted me. He told me that there was a rabbit behind me and not to back up or I'd kill it. So I looked behind me to find out where the rabbit was and before I knew it, Halmir grabbed my arm and tossed me into the mud pit behind him.'  
  
'And that's why you ran in here,' Elrond asked when Estel stopped, 'because your friend played a joke on you while you were sparring. I've seen your brothers do worse to you during your matches with them. I've also seen you more muddy and not upset in the slightest.'  
  
'It's not that Ada. See I told you, you wouldn't understand,' Estel flopped down on his bed, still messing with the toy. Elrond sat next to him.  
  
'Tell me what I don't understand.'  
  
'Halmir's dishonest!' Estel yelled, 'He deserves to be tossed into a mud pit of his own where he can discover what fair fighting is and learn how to fight a proper battle.'  
  
Elrond smiled, 'Perhaps he does, but that is not your decision to make. You cannot decide who is honest and who isn't. All you can do is maintain your own integrity and live up to your own standards. Then, at the end of the day, it won't matter if Halmir is honest or not because you will have been fair and fought like a gentlemen.'  
  
'But...' Estel began.  
  
'I know it's not easy. Sometimes the desire to deliver your own justice is overwhelming, but you must fight it and uphold your own morals. Do you understand?'  
  
'Yes, ada.'  
  
_End Flashback_  
  
You must fight the desire and uphold your own morals; Elrond's words rang in Strider's head. He looked down at the man, who hadn't moved, and raised his sword a bit higher.  
  
'It's not for me to decide whether you're honest or not, just to know that what I do is the right thing.' Strider pulled down on the sword with all of his strength and plunged it deep into the man's chest. The man let out one last breath before dying. Strider tiredly pulled his sword out of the man.  
  
Adrenalin was quickly fleeing Strider, causing the pain in his back and shoulder to pulsate once again. With a great deal of effort, he forced himself to pick up his feet, which now felt like lead, and walk over to where Yestin lay. Kneeling, he checked his captain's pulse. He was still alive, but was growing weaker. Worry began to cloud Strider's mind, until he remembered Yestin's wound.  
  
It had stopped for the most part, but was still letting out a rather generous amount of blood. Strider tore a long piece of his cloak and gently wrapped it around Yestin's stomach, placing another piece of his cloak directly on top of the wound to try to stench the flow of blood before tying the strip.  
  
Suddenly, he felt queasy and nauseous. The last of his adrenalin left him as well. The clouds that had been threatening to overcome him earlier finally reappeared and would not leave despite his best efforts. As he lost consciousness, he dropped to the ground and lay there until Glynn found him, blood staining the forest floor and near death.


	9. Awkward Silence

And yet another post, in little over a month's time too. Not too much suspense I hope, probably not, you probably forgot about the story, right? Well, it's getting done, just passed the halfway mark, so just hang in a little bit longer.

But, um, this is longer than the previous chapter and not as intense. So, read, relax, and review. Enjoy!

For disclaimer see chapter one.

Oh, and thanks to Catmint for telling me about the n in Elladan, I thought I'd corrected it, but it's fixed now. No really, go look at chapter eight and it's fixed.

Well, here it goes.

* * *

Awkward Silence  
  
Strider could not have known of the aftermath of the surprise attack nor of the nimble hands that swiftly worked to bring him back from the brink of death for he never regained consciousness after collapsing at his captain's side. Yestin, however, knew for he'd woken in time to see Strider fall to the ground. From what Yestin could see, as he lay on the ground, the young man had quite a nasty bruise near his jaw that would make talking and eating painful and a cut above his left eye which was dried shut by the blood the had come from the wound. He also took notice of the awkwardness of Strider's shoulder- something was not right about it. It was sometime later that his men finished off the last of rogues. Those who were able went to help with the main battle, but it was over before they got there; Geraint and his men had succeeded in holding off the onslaught of rouges coming from the village, while Bari's men had surprised the rouges with an attack from the side across the river. Having distracted the rouges, Romney and his small team of men were able to get into the town to rescue the men. 

And now Yestin was lying on a rather soft bed, trying to suppress yawning as the idleness of the moment combined with the heat radiating from the fire in the fire place tried to lull him to sleep; he was losing horribly. In fact he was near sleep when there was a knocking at his door and startled, he sprung from the bed, his feet nearly collapsing under him for he was still very weak from the loss of blood he'd sustained yesterday.

But he quickly reached for the wall and steadied himself. Though his breaths still raced, he felt much better and was getting ready to sit down again when the knocking returned, followed by a voice saturated with worry and concern.

'Sir,' Yestin recognized the voice as Glynn's, their healer, 'are you alright?' All right? Sure, he mused, if all right is having stabs of pain shooting up your abdomen every time you move, causing your stomach to churn, at times quite violently. Yeah, then he guessed he was all right.

Yestin sighed as he sat, trying to quell the nausea that rose as he did so, though it was much better to sit, much less painful. 'Sir?' came the irritating voice again. Yestin had a rather healthy disdain for healers, even he could count them among his own.

'Come in Glynn.' The door burst open and in came Glynn with his pack of herbs, bandages, and other tools he carried to help treat wounds.

'Sir, you should not be sitting up,' Glynn went immediately to his captain, urging him to lie back down with a bit of force that Yestin was unable to resist for he suddenly felt weak and drained. 'You've probably broken a few stitches now, what with all of your moving about.' Glynn went to work, checking Yestin's injury and his own handiwork all the while mumbling semi-coherently about Yestin's lack of concern for his own health, 'It was a very serious injury, sir. When I found you, you'd lost a lost of blood already. It was a good thing that Strider tried to bind your wound; very nearly saved your life.'

Yestin gave a slight start at the mention of Strider. He hadn't seen the man since yesterday when he saw him lose consciousness. At first they thought he was dead, but then Yestin noticed that he still drew breath and Glynn had found a weak, yet consistent heartbeat. From what Glynn had told him early this morning, it was touch and go for a while and he didn't give much hope for a complete recovery, not with all of the injuries inflicted.

'Glynn,' the healer continued on with his mumbling, not hearing his captain. 'Glynn,' Yestin spoke louder with more aggressiveness. Glynn ceased moving.

'Yes, sir?'

'How is Strider? Has he regained consciousness yet?'

'Nay, not yet,' Glynn continued with his examination.

'And what of his injuries?' Glynn had informed him of the young man's injuries this morning: three deep gashes on his back; a bruise on his jawbone; a deep cut on his thigh; a few broken fingers; a concussion; and numerous minor cuts, scrapes, and bruises. All were fairly substantial and painful, but the worst had to be the broken collarbone; it was the right side, his sword side.

'They've all been either set or bound.' Glynn was short, obviously not wanting to reveal something. But Yestin knew better, even in his weakened state he could see past the healer's lies and evasiveness.

'What is it?' Glynn did not answer, but stopped his ministrations. 'Glynn, I know you're hiding something, now tell me,' Yestin demanded as he rose on his elbows.

'His shoulder wound,' the words flowed out like water rushing from a dam.

'You mean the broken collarbone. What about it? You set it correctly didn't you?'

'That's just the thing, sir. I don't know. The collarbone is the hardest to set, you never know if it's right until it's healed and then it's too late.'

'So, if it's set wrong...' Yestin prodded.

'He'll never be able to use it again. Not properly at least. He would have some strength in it...' Glynn trailed off, accepting Strider's loss as a personal defeat.

'But he'll never use a sword again,' Yestin finished. He cursed under his breath. 'He helps me, no he saves me from death and this is what he gets; the loss of his arm, forced to be lame for the remainder of his life. Cursed rouges.'

'Yes, sir,' Glynn, solemnly nodded as he rose from his place by Yestin's bed, grabbing his pack as he did so. He was finished with his examination, finding all of his stitches to be holding perfectly. With a bit of awkwardness about the sudden silence, Glynn turned to leave Yestin. He didn't need to bother telling his captain to get some rest for he knew that Yestin was fully aware that he needed to sleep, the only problem would be getting to sleep. Glynn turned as if he were going to say something as he left the room, but remained silent. Instead it was Yestin who spoke.

'Let me know when he wakes. I don't care if it's in the middle of the night, come in and wake me. And don't tell him of the collarbone, I will bear the bad news to him.' Yestin's voice was unusually sad, it would be a hard thing to tell the young man of his injury, but he felt that as his captain, it was his responsibility and his burden.

'Yes, sir,' came Glynn's sole acknowledgement of the request as he left the room, quietly shutting the door.

Yestin laid back down, but did not try to sleep. He knew he wouldn't, not even with the soft bed he had been given. There was no doubt the rest of his men were sleeping, all enjoying the hostipitality and gratitude of the people of the village they had saved for the majority of the rouges had been killed and those who still lived had fled as cowards from the battle scene.

The people had accepted them with nervous embraces at first until they realized that Yestin and his men were not there to pillage their homes. Then they showered them with hugs, kisses, and handshakes. He had been ready to collapse at that point, but still tried to ask for food and rest for his men. Shoun, the leader of the village, had stepped forth. He was a tall, young man, quite odd for a leader. But he was warm and friendly, nonetheless, giving orders to the villagers to give shelter to their rescuers and provide them with whatever they should require.

Yestin dimly recalled Glynn being the first to step forward, asking hurriedly for use of a large room where he could place all of the wounded for treatment. Shoun spoke quietly to a small, graying man next to him. Inana, as the man was called, led Glynn to the town hall, a large, single story building used primarily for meetings; connected to the large room by a hallway were several smaller rooms.

It was in one of those rooms that Yestin was now lying, trying not to doze on the soft bed that had been added to the room just moments before he was brought into it. He forced himself awake, for sleep was now standing, taunting him at his door, beckoning for him to follow it into the blissful void as it conjured up dreams and tales for him. He was drifting, but he didn't know it, allowing his eyelids to droop and his breathing to slow to a steady rhythm.

So he never did realize that the pain was beginning to fade as he fell asleep until he heard shouting in the distance. It was rather annoying, not to mention persistent and aggravating for he was in a deep slumber. Concentration broken, his mind began to pull itself back to reality, moving swifter as the intervals between the shouts decreased until he finally opened his eyes and found himself staring at the wooden ceiling above him.

'Captain!' the voice continued with the same intensity despite the fact that he was awake now.

'Glynn,' Yestin had known who it was even in his sleep, 'there is no need to shout, for I am now awake.'

'Pardon, sir, but you wanted to be woken when Strider regained consciousness.'

'And...' Yestin queried. Glynn stared at him for a second, before he realized that his captain was not totally awake.

'And he has. Regained consciousness, that is.' It took a few seconds longer for Glynn's words to register in Yestin's foggy mind, but as they did he jumped off the bed, regretting it instantly as he was overwhelmed by nausea and a tremendous stabbing in his head. He nearly collapsed from the sudden pain, but Glynn saw his knees weaken and begin to buckle, catching him before he fell. 'Easy, captain. You're not one hundred percent yet. Perhaps you should stay here, it would not be good if you were to fall seriously ill.' Yestin waited a second before answering; he was still trying to calm his breathing and swallow the acidic bile that had risen three-quarters of the way up his throat to the back of his mouth.

'No,' Yestin paused, 'I have to go. I must.' Glynn recognized the stubbornness in his captain's voice, there would be no swaying his mind.

'Yes, sir,' Glynn mumbled, 'but I shall help you. Collapsing on the way would not bode well for your injuries.'

'Alright,' Yestin understood the tone on the healer's voice and knew there was no room for counterargument. So with Glynn's help, Yestin slowly made it out of his room into the hallway where they turned left and walked past three doors until they reached one that was slightly ajar. Glynn pushed the door open, walking into the room while Yestin stood in the doorway taken aback by the young man's haggard appearance.

A damp cloth rested on his forehead, pushing his now stringy, wet hair off his sweat-coated face. As Yestin drew closer to the young man, he saw a hint of the bruise that marred the left side of his jaw; the entire bruise could not be seen for that side was facing the wall. Yestin swayed as another wave of nausea hit him and Glynn was instantly by his side guiding him to a chair that had just been set there by Inana, who turned out to be the village healer. Yestin gladly took the seat by Strider's side, looking nervously at the man, whose eyes were now closed.

'I thought you said he had woken,' he asked.

'He had, but he lost it again,' Inana spoke, his native tongue showing through the accent he spoke the ranger's Westron with.

'Shall I help you back to your room, sir?' Glynn asked.

'Nay,' Yestin waved him off, 'I'll stay here with him, wait for him to wake again.' Yestin turned to the two healers, 'Did he say anything?' Glynn looked to Inana, who shook his head.

'Earlier though he did mutter something about Peredhil and Imladris,' Inana spoke again, remembering the hour Glynn had spent tending to other patients while he stayed to watch Strider. His pronunciation of the words was harsh for he didn't recall them being Westron words, in fact he did not know of the language they came from. Yestin however did as did Glynn and both looked at one another, wondering if they were thinking the same thing.

'Do you suppose,' Glynn began, 'that is his secret?'

'Peredhil? It's possible. He does have some unusual talents and abilities for a man of his age. Though I would have never guessed it.' Yestin answered as Strider was beginning to come to again. Shrugging off the previous moment's thoughts, Yestin moved in closer to the young man, who slowly turned his head to meet Yestin's concerned gaze.

' 'estin?' Strider's question was almost inaudible due to the bruising on his jaw so Strider started to try again, but Yestin stopped him.

'Don't speak, you're not going to be able to for a few days, not until the swelling in that jaw goes done. You got a pretty nasty bruise on it,' Yestin paused a second, debating when to tell Strider about his shoulder. He must already know that something's wrong, unless he can't feel it. But he couldn't even convince himself of that, for the pain in Strider's expression was too great to miss. 'You were hurt pretty bad,' normally Yestin was a better orator, but he was off his mark today. Telling someone like Strider whom he'd come to think of one of his own, that he might never lift a sword again was hard. 'You got some nasty gashes on your back, and a deep cut on your thigh. Not to mention a few broken fingers and other minor cuts and bruises.'

' 'y 'oulder, 'ir,' Strider managed to ask. Right, the shoulder, Yestin reminded himself; he already forgotten about it.

'It's broken, the collarbone that is,' Strider looked at him nervously, his tired mind beginning to process the latest events. 'Glynn and Inana have done their best to set it properly, but we can't be sure that it's right,' Strider knew what that meant, but Yestin still continued, 'and we won't know until it's healed. Unfortunately, if it is wrong, it's too late to do anything. You'll lose most of your function in the arm.' Silence engulfed the room. Yestin was at a loss as to what to say; instead he turned to Glynn and Inana behind him.

'Would you give us a moment alone,' the two healers nodded in perfect unison as they rose and left the room; Glynn shut the door after one last glance at Yestin. He wasn't sure what Yestin was going to do and for that matter neither was Yestin. For a few moments the two didn't speak.

'I,' Yestin began, 'want to thank you for saving my life. That was a mighty brave thing to do.' Strider tried to speak, but Yestin put his hand up to stop him, 'I know you're going to be modest about it, but I want you to know how grateful I am...' Yestin trailed off, losing his nerve to talk to the young man whose future with them now hung precariously in front of them. In the silence, Yestin found himself staring at Strider's shoulder with what seemed like a morbid curiosity. He didn't really want to think about it, but felt drawn to the subject by Strider's pain filled eyes.

'I don't mean to scare you about your shoulder, but the collarbone is the most difficult to set. Half of the time they aren't set right, but I have faith in those two healers, especially Glynn. He's worked some real wonders. He probably has it set right, but he's so modest about his skills as a healer and never trusts in his own abilities.' Strider seemed a little more relaxed.

'Regardless of how it heals, though, you've earned my respect,' Strider straightened up a bit at the news despite his body's calling that he sleep once again. Yestin saw the tiredness creep into the young man's face, yet decided to continue. 'You have shown, during the past six months, to be both trustworthy and dependable. And the courage and honor you displayed during yesterday's battle have more than proven that you have the necessary skills to join the rangers and be called among their own,' Yestin paused, the man was growing tired and so he hurried through his explanation. 'You have completed the first step towards becoming a ranger, the second is your acceptance of the invitation. Don't tell me now, wait and think it over for the third step is the most difficult, more trying than anything you have attempted, but its rewards are far reaching and numerous. For now, though, rest and allow yourself to heal. We will have many opportunities in the future to speak and discuss your choice.' As Yestin finished, Strider's eyes finally slid shut and his breathing evened out until it was steady.

In the meantime, Yestin sat watching the young man, thinking about the day they found him, the look on his face as he tried to save Emlyn, and the questions about his background. Was he a Peredhil? Is that why he had such abilities and talents? Yestin mulled over these questions as he sat there, watching the strange, young man sleep.


	10. The Beginning of the End

Hey, I'm back. Sorry about the long wait on the update, but I'm in college now and finding time to update isn't all that easy. But to reward those of you who have stuck around and to celebrate the one year anniversary of this story, I'm posting a thirteen page chapter and am going to try my hardeset to finish this story up by Christmas and still stay on top of my school work, should be an interesting semester; the story really shouldn't have gone on this long. But I hope you all read, relax and enjoy. Oh and don't forget to review.

Please forgive any errors, I was trying hard to get this up tonight so I didn't do my usual three edits. Oh and for the disclaimer, because I don't own LOTR, see chapter one. Thanks.

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The Beginning of the End

He raised his sword high, preparing to bring it down on his opponent in one fluid motion, but his strike was parried and his sword effortlessly shoved aside. As he moved his sword back into position for another strike, he dodged a thrust aimed for his chest, his own sword lightly grazing the other in a mild attempt at blocking the move. He knew his concentration was slipping, he needed to focus. As he and his opponent stood, waiting for the other to move while plotting their next move, he closed his eyes, channeling all of his efforts into the battle before him; it was imperative that he win.

His breathing slowed and his mind cleared as he willed all of his energy into his sword arm. The battle was taxing it; he could feel his muscles strain as he gripped his sword even tighter; his opponent was moving. A shadow came over him as he opened his eyes, raising his sword as he did so for he knew that when he opened his eyes his opponent would be standing before him, sword ready to kill. But as the blade came down, he raised his own up, effectively blocking the shot. And as he shoved the sword out of his way, he took one hand off his and grabbed the dagger in his boot, shoving it up towards his opponent's throat. Seeing his defeat, his opponent fell to his knees, dropping his sword as he did so.

All eyes in the camp were set on the fight in the center; one of their own dueling with another of like skill, but there was no animosity against this stranger. In fact it was the stranger that garnered their support and cheers, for this stranger was Strider and it was with Yestin that he was dueling.

The two looked at each other for a moment longer until the adrenalin wore off and Strider realized that he still had his dagger pointed towards his captain's throat. He calmed his thoughts, pushing away the ones that told him to kill the man that knelt before him. Yestin too relaxed as Strider pulled the dagger away, placing the sharp blade in its holder; he did not fear knives, but having one so close to your throat is enough to put you on edge. Strider sheathed his sword and offered his hand to help his captain to his feet. Yestin took the hand and rose to his feet; he was not ashamed of his defeat by Strider.

'Well done Strider,' a voice from behind Yestin said. The captain turned to find the source, it was Romney and he was handing him his sword.

'Yes,' Yestin agreed as he took this blade and sheathed it, 'very well done.'

'Thank you sir,' Strider glanced down, worried about his actions in battle. 'I'm sorry didn't meant to get so into it. I didn't even realize...'

'Don't worry about it,' Yestin interrupted Strider. 'How is your arm?' The change of topic was abrupt, catching Strider off guard.

'Fine,' Strider spoke quickly. It had been nearly three months since the battle in the clearing and three months since finding out about his shoulder. Both men gave Strider a look, they could see past his lies.

'Don't lie Strider. I could see you favoring it during our duel,' Yestin chided the younger man. Strider glanced down again, sighing as he did so. It was true, his arm ached and his shoulder throbbed with pain from swinging his heavy sword.

'Come, Strider,' Romney said when Strider did not answer, 'let's go take a look at that arm. You've got to be ready for tonight.'

'Aye, sir,' Strider perked up slightly at the mention of tonight when he would take the third step in becoming a ranger. He followed closely behind Romney as Yestin's first led him to the outskirts of the camp. Yestin followed at Strider's side.

A few weeks after the battle, when the majority of Strider's wounds had healed, Yestin began working with him. At that point Strider could not hold a sword and Glynn would have forbidden it anyway, but there were still some things they could work on to keep Strider occupied until he was able to practice with his sword. And just over a month ago, Glynn allowed Strider to begin practice with his sword. They started out lightly at first and then progressed until their sessions grew to last for hours. Today was the final test, to see if Strider was prepared and if his arm was strong enough yet.

'Put out your arm,' Romney held out his arm as an example. 'Let me take a look at it.' Strider held out his arm, a little shocked at being there already. He didn't really care what they said about his arm, he was going to continue on with the third step. Yestin hadn't told him much about it other than it was more than anything that he had ever endured in his life and that it would be the ultimate test of his abilities; the deciding factor in his quest to become a ranger. And he would not put it off for another day; his arm however disagreed as a sharp pain shot up through it into his shoulder. Romney stopped his prodding when he heard Strider wince and felt him pull back.

Strider did not realize that he'd showed any sign of pain until Romney called to him.

'Strider,' Romney tried to pull the man from whatever daydream he was having back to reality. 'Strider, what is it that hurts?'

'Huh?' Strider mumbled as he slowly became aware of his surroundings. 'Nothing, it's fine.'

'Try again,' Yestin prompted. It was clear that he wouldn't tolerate this sort of thing.

'Honestly, sir, its nothing,' Strider defended again. Yestin sighed, the kid was determined all right; it would be tough to prove that he hurt.

'Ok, then put your arm out again.' Strider reluctantly put his arm out. 'Now raise it above your head,' Strider moved it up slowly, biting his lip as he felt a slight twinge in his shoulder. Yestin saw the look of discomfort and knew he was close to his goal; it wasn't that he wanted to hurt Strider or to see him in pain, just ensure that he was in peek physical condition for the third step. 'To the side now,' Strider lowered his arm to the side. His stoic look broke suddenly when the sharp pain returned with an intensity that forced him to grab his shoulder and bend over in pain. Yestin was immediately by his side.

'Where does it hurt?' he put his hands on the young man's good shoulder to help steady him.

'Shoulder,' Strider managed to get out as he tried to recover from the shock of the pain.

'The bone?' Yestin asked.

'And muscle.'

'All right, Romney go get Glynn,' Yestin didn't bother to turn as Romney left to get the medic, instead keeping his focus on Strider. 'Strider, have a seat,' he helped the younger man to sit down on the grass. 'I'm afraid that that battle might have done some damage to your shoulder. It is still healing and won't be back to perfect right away.'

'It's been three months sir,' Yestin was taken off guard by Strider's voice, he hadn't expected him to talk, 'it's healed all that it's going to. We both know that, it wasn't set right and now I'm stuck with this shoulder.' Yestin sighed; he knew that Strider was right. Glynn hadn't set it right, but he didn't blame the healer, he'd done his best. Strider was pretty lucky to be alive and standing right now considering all of the wounds he had. It was a matter of sheer will, though, that drove Strider to this point; he was determined to become a ranger, to belong once again.

Yestin was startled out of his thoughts when Glynn knelt beside him. The healer set to work immediately.

'What happened,' he asked to no one in particular.

'After our duel,' Yestin began, 'I tested his shoulder to see how it reacted to the movement and he suddenly doubled over in pain.'

'Can you move it at all,' Glynn asked Strider, who had now released his arm and was listening to the conversation between his captain and the healer.

'Yes, it doesn't hurt that much now,' Strider pulled back as Glynn began to prod the wounded shoulder; it was still tender to the touch.

'What is it that hurts,' Glynn inquired as he continued his ministrations despite Strider's apparent reluctance towards being touched.

'The bone and muscle.'

'How did you move it that made it hurt?' Glynn was trying to pin point the source of the problem.

'To the side.'

'Can you do it again,' Glynn asked. Strider hesitated at first, remembering the pain he'd felt earlier. But he had to do it, to get back to normal he had to do it. Slowly he raised the arm to the requested position, biting his lips as the pain increased. He began to shake as the pain increased. Glynn prodded the shoulder even more, feeling around the bone that had been broken; it didn't feel right. He knew what was wrong and he was sure that Strider knew as well. The shoulder was completely healed, only it had healed wrong and now the arm was weak. Strider could exercise it all he wanted, build up the muscle, and the pain would still be there as would be the weakness.

Glynn dropped his arms, slightly depressed; he'd never failed before. He nodded to Strider, telling him to put his arm down. The young man breathed a sigh of relief and rubbed his shoulder to relieve the pain.

'What's wrong,' Romney asked as he stood behind Glynn and Yestin. The healer gave no answer, but he didn't have to for Strider volunteered the information.

'The shoulder's healed wrong. Nothing that happened because of the dueling, it was set that way,' Strider looked at Glynn. 'I don't blame you. I know you did your best.'

'How'd that happen,' Romney tried to understand, 'he's able to use the arm. Doesn't that mean everything's okay?' Glynn sighed; he worked mostly with people who understood the workings of the body so he often forgot that Romney was not as knowledgeable about the body.

'Sure he's able to use it. I never said that he wouldn't, just that there would be pain and it would be weak,' Glynn explained. Romney gestured with his hands, waiting for more.

'What he means is that I'll never be able to fight like I did before. I'll always be dealing with the pain and weak feeling in it.' The four sat in silence for a moment until Strider began again, 'I'd still like to continue with the third step tonight,' he told Yestin, who turned to Glynn.

'There's nothing we can do about the shoulder. He might as well continue with the process tonight. He can't harm it anymore by doing so.' Yestin looked at Strider and then at the ground. Despite the healer's reassurances, he wasn't sure about putting Strider through it tonight; he didn't want the young man to fail for he'd never get another chance. Perhaps another night would be better.

'Don't try to sway my mind sir,' Strider read his thoughts, 'I want to go through with it, you and I know that now or next month nothing will have changed. It'll still be as weak as it is today.'

'All right then,' Yestin sighed as he stood to leave, he knew Strider's mind was made up, 'I will begin to make preparations for tonight. I will send for you when everything is ready. Romney,' Yestin turned to his second, 'come with me.' The two left leaving Glynn and Strider in silence. It was Strider who spoke first.

'Do not worry, I know what I am doing,' he told his friend. During the past three months, Strider had gotten to know Glynn pretty well and no longer harbored feelings of mistrust or nervousness towards the man and in return Glynn had expanded on his already extensive knowledge of herbs and plants used for healing. 'This is something I have to do; I have to prove that I can do it, for myself and for...' Strider trailed off, not wanting to continue and Glynn did not pressure him to, he knew the man's limits; how far to push him.

'I know, but I don't think you understand what you're getting yourself into. We're a hated people, Strider. We're outlaws, bandits, once you don the green cloak of a ranger, you'll never be accepted again; never enter a city without glaring eyes and whispers behind your back. In an instant all that was open to you will be closed to you and you'll be forced to live on the move, you can never live in a village or town, you won't fit in, your neighbors will hate you. It's the cloak.'

'Then I'll take it off when I enter a village. People won't know,' Strider retorted. Glynn shook his head, exasperated.

'You don't understand. You have an entire life ahead of you and you've got some great skills. Why don't you find a nice young lady somewhere and settle down, have a family. You surely won't find a woman out here.'

'How then do the rangers continue their bloodlines? You are a descendent of a ranger, are you not?'

'Yes,' Glynn answer, that was true. His father was a ranger as was his father before him. It was a tradition in the family, but to be honest he didn't really know how his father courted his mother. He'd never met a woman he could even come close to liking.

'Well, then I'll find a woman out here, if I want to. I don't even know I want to have a family. But if I do, it'll work out, somehow. I don't know how right now, but it will. All I know is that tonight I'm going to continue with my journey to become a ranger and that's my final decision.' Glynn looked at his younger friend for a second before rising to his feet. Strider didn't really know what he was getting himself into, but it wasn't his youth that blocked his sight, that was the way it was supposed to be. But he couldn't say anything more, all he could do now was leave Strider to think about what might come tonight, what surprises would be in store for him and so he left, wordlessly, leaving Strider still sitting on the ground, unconsciously still rubbing his shoulder though the ache had long since faded into memory.

Strider sat there, unbothered by anyone in the camp, for hours. He couldn't recall exactly how long he has been there nor could he remember what he was thinking about either. It didn't really matter, he supposed, for he had no duties anymore and therefore could afford a moment or two of complete relaxation. He didn't even recall that he was to begin the third step tonight until Romney came to him, breaking any thoughts he was having at the time.

'It is time, Strider,' Romney's voice was unusually void of emotion. Instead he stood stoically before the resting man and didn't even bother with more than a moment's glance towards him.

'Aye,' Strider stood, waiting for Romney to speak again. He looked around at the camp; the sun was giving off a red glow as it sunk beneath the horizon. Strider estimated that there was about a half hour left before the sun set and another twenty or forty minutes before darkness fell over them.

'Yestin waits for you,' Romney turned. 'Follow me.' He started walking away, not seeming to care whether Strider followed him or not. But follow him, Strider did. His laziness had quickly worn off and he was now focused entirely on the tasks before him, what was to come. As they approached Yestin, Strider noted the way he stood; he had the same stoic look as Romney did. His hands were behind his back, one resting in the other's palm. The rest of the men sat in a circle around him, the fire in the middle danced in their eyes.

Romney stopped a few feet before he reached the circle and beckoned for Strider to stand at his side. Silence engulfed the campsite as everyone's attention was diverted from the fire to the two of them. Strider looked down now, embarrassed by the sudden attention he was receiving.

'Strider,' Yestin broke the silence. His voice was gruff and commanding, but he didn't have to say anything more, Strider understood that he as being called to the center of the circle. The men in front of Strider made a passageway for the young man to walk through. When Strider arrived in the center of the circle, Yestin gestured for him to stand before him.

'Three months ago,' Yestin began when Strider stood in front of him, 'I gave you an invitation; I invited you to join the rangers and you accepted. As a result of that acceptance you will begin the third phase tonight. Now it is tradition that it begin on the first night of the new moon, when all is dark. At the conclusion of this meeting you will be given a vial, the contents of which you will drink immediately. The potion in the vial will induce a state of unconsciousness in you for approximately three hours at which time you will be bound, blindfolded, and taken deep within these woods,' Yestin pointed to the forest to the side of him. 'The rangers have kept these woods secure for the past three hundred years, many go in it, but only true rangers come out of it. There are many secrets in these woods, many surprises and foul beasts. They stay there, a pact made long ago with the trees, for the elves taught them to speak and so this is now the testing ground for all rangers. Your task is to make it out in three days time. In that time, you must make it out here, to our encampment and report to me, at which time you will have completed the third phase. Do you understand?' Yestin asked.

'Yes sir,' Strider answered.

'Then take this vial,' Yestin held a vial, filled two-thirds of the way with a blue liquid. Strider took the vial, holding it for a second as he gazed at the liquid, 'and prepare to endure the Ordeal of the Rangers,' Yestin concluded. With that, Strider uncapped the vial and downed the contents of it.

After that, the circle broke and the ceremony was ended, leaving Strider and Yestin standing in the middle.

'You should go prepare your pack,' Yestin stated, 'the potion will begin to take effect in about twenty minutes. When you are finished, return to me here and we will continue with the preparation.' Strider walked quickly over to his back and began to put his things in the woolen sack he had received nearly nine months ago when he was found by Yestin in the cave. Twenty minutes was more than enough to gather his belongings.

When Strider had finished he stood, not yet feeling the effects of the potion. In fact he had never felt better as he walked to the center of the camp to where Yestin stood, waiting for his return. As Strider came closer, he saw that the stoic expression on Yestin's face had not changed and he doubted that it would for Yestin was not his friend now, but his captain.

'The purpose of this stage is to test your ability to be a ranger, you will face many perils and struggles should you become a ranger, therefore it is imperative that we know that you are capable of surviving in the worst of situations and battling the worst of enemies. Thus, you are not permitted to bear your weapons into this challenge, rather you will leave them here under my safeguarding,' Trahaeron and Traherne approached Strider from either side, ready to take the young man's weapons. Strider did not hesitate in removing them for he understood the importance of such a disability. 'And I cannot allow you to take your pack with you.' At this Strider hesitated, but held out his pack to Yestin nonetheless. Yestin took it quickly and continued with his explanation, 'You should go to Glynn now; the potion will begin to take effect shortly.'

Strider nodded though he did not feel anything yet, but sought out Glynn as he was directed to do. He found the healer sorting through his supplies, checking his stores of healing herbs and plants. To his side, he had laid out a blanket and set a pillow at one end.

'Ah, Strider, you're here,' Glynn didn't bother to look up. 'I have been waiting on you. Please lie down,' Glynn pointed to the makeshift bed next to him. Strider warily sat on the blanket. 'You understand what this is for,' Glynn could see that the man was nervous. Strider nodded his head, he knew, but it still made him uneasy. 'We don't know exactly when you will begin to feel the effects of the potion, but we can't let you wander around until you do; it wouldn't be safe. Don't worry Strider, just lie down and relax. It'll be over before you know it.' As a ranger he respected and understood the importance of the Ordeal, but as a healer he could see nothing good in it; inducing sleep like this was not safe, there were many dangers associated with it.

Strider did not care to lie down, there was something about waiting for the drug to take effect that put him on edge, made him suspect every abnormal motion he felt when in actual, it was nothing. And so when his head suddenly felt as light as a feather and it seemed that all colors were melding into one, he gave a slight start and half choked cry came from his throat. Glynn was at his side in an instant, grateful that he did not permit himself to get caught up in the excitement of testing a new ranger as the others did. Rather he acted as the healer he was trained to be, treating each new ranger with care and dignity as the drug took effect and they slipped into unconsciousness.

'Don't panic, just lie down' he told Strider, helping him to lie down. Glynn did not return to his inventorying for he knew all too well of what would come next; Strider's reaction was not abnormal, Glynn himself had experienced it as had all the others who endured the test. Soon, he knew, Strider would feel as though it were winter already as the drug worked to shutdown his limbs and so he was not startled when Strider began to shiver and complain of a sudden coldness.

'What's happening?' he asked. 'Did something go wrong?'

'No, this is what happens. See, the drug is unique in that it renders one unconscious for a specific amount of time, no longer and no less. Therefore it works differently in the body. This is why wandering around the campsite is dangerous; the effects catch you off guard because they're not what you expect, to drift off of to sleep, rather you'll know when you are losing consciousness. It's quite an unusual experience for people, but don't worry it isn't as bad as you think it is.' Strider nodded his head. He was trying to rub his arms to get some warmth back into them, but he couldn't feel his hands.

His earlier panic began to creep back as the numbness moved up to his elbows, but he urged himself to think of other things; he refused to allow himself to panic again. It was childish and silly, this wasn't the worst he had endured and he was sure that he would go through much more in the next three days than this. By the end, this would seem like an ant hill compared to the other mounds he would have to jump. And so he relaxed as he felt the darkness creeping into his vision, slightly in awe of how it moved in ever so gently like fog rolling down a hill to cloud a town in the early morn.

Glynn was right, he knew the exact moment before he lost consciousness that he was going to, in fact it seemed that he knew that when his eyelids closed that they would not open again for another three hours, but he was not entirely out of it yet; his mind was still functioning on a very minimal level, but only so that he was dimly aware the Glynn was still beside him, waiting for the final parts to slip away. And when they did Strider knew.

When Strider awoke exactly three hours later it was dark. Trying to stand, he realized that his hands were bound and memories came flooding back to him as he suddenly remembered the reason he was out here; he had to get free and make it back to camp in exactly three days. Fiddling with the rope that bound his hands, he found that it was a simple binding, nothing worse than when he was a child and being teased by the other elven children who would gang up on him, tie his arms and legs, and leave him up in a tree until he was found later that night by Lord Elrond or his sons.

Thus he made short work of the binding and was free in a matter of minutes, rising to his feet after he did so. It was then he realized that he still had the blindfold on and took it off promptly, finding it to be just as dark without it as it was with it; there was no moon out tonight for it was a new moon and even if there were a moon, Strider found it likely that the thick branches of the trees would have blocked out any light that emanated from it. But, that didn't really matter, the Ordeal was always begun on the first night of a new moon, to provide for the worst of situations and give the ultimate of tests.

But standing here thinking about the darkness would do him no good, he thought to himself; it would bring him no closer to the light. Rather he would have to set out if he expected to get anywhere, but that would be obvious even to a fool. He first attempted to find tracks of the rangers who placed him there or even any trace of where they had covered their tracks, for he realized that there would be less tracks where the rangers had covered their tracks.

But the ground was totally unmarked except for where he had been, therefore the task at hand was to decide in which direction to travel and that meant figuring out the directions. He knew the stars would easily tell him the directions, but that would mean climbing a tree and these were not entirely fond of the idea being walked all over. Thus he would have to rely on other, less accurate methods until the sun rose and he could figure out the directions better. He hastily checked the sides of trees, feeling slightly silly as he did so, for the growth of moss; it was growing heavier on the left side; therefore his left was more than likely south and his right north. That helps, he thought, but where was the camp?

And then, as fate would have it, he heard a low growl behind him. Being out in the wild, unarmed and caught off guard, his first reaction was to run, but that would get him killed quicker so he set aside the idea and tried to reasoning with his own mind. Time seemed to slow as he sorted out the situation. He'd already been discovered so there was no need for him to move with caution, except to keep from attracting more animals. He had no weapons and nothing to improvise with either. Plus he found himself truly frightened, for the first time in a while, of what might happen in the next few minutes. Thus he decided that his only way out was to, quell his fears and face the animal, enduring whatever it should do to him.

Mentally he gave himself a countdown, not trusting himself to turn around before the creature attacked him and it was none too soon for as soon as he turned, the wolf that crouched behind him pounced, its yellowed teeth bearing down on his neck.

Strider saw the wolf launch itself off its hind legs and braced himself for its four paws to slam him into the ground. The instant his back connected, he rolled over, trying to shake the animal off, all the while trying to clear his mind of the pain he felt. The wolf clamped down on his arm as he shoved the animal away from him and got to his feet, trying to ignore the throbbing pain coming from the fresh wound. He readied himself for the next round as the wolf got to its feet and did the same. This time, however, it was Strider who attacked first, throwing himself on the wolf's back as he did so.

Furious, the wolf turned to bite him, but Strider rolled to his side, holding on tightly to the animal's back. Its thin legs not strong enough to bear the weight of the full grown man, the wolf fell sideways causing Strider to roll on to his back, the animal's own back digging into his stomach. The wolf kicked and thrashed its head as he tried to loose itself from the man's tight grip. When it began to worm its way out, Strider increased his grip on the animal and reached his legs up to grip its bottom half. The thrashing increased forcing Strider to turn his head to the left. And that was when he spotted the stick, a little under three feet from him.

Bracing himself, he forced his right arm to grip tightly around the wolf's upper body though it ached terribly as he did so and stretched his other arm out to grasp the stick. The wolf took this opportunity though and shook its entire body, thrashing its head and kicking its legs until it had weakened the lone arm that still grasped him. The creature scrambled as his got to its feet, turning to bite the man's neck as he did so. But Strider had moved quickly when the wolf rolled off of him and jabbed the stick down hard into the wolf's side.

Blood quickly oozed from the point of insertion, but Strider still held the stick in place. The wolf cried out, slowing as life drained from it until it ceased to move. Only then did Strider relax, panting as he removed his arm from the stick. As he knelt beside the dead wolf, he looked at it curiously; its eyes were still open, now glaring blanking at the man who killed him. Strider reached his hand out to close the eyes, pausing for a second to grieve for the life he'd just taken.

Adrenalin, as it always did, wore off, allowing him to feel in the aching in his arm; the dull ache in his shoulder from his previous battle three months ago and the fresh wound that was dripping blood onto the forest floor. He inspected the wound, it was not serious, but would have to be cleaned the moment he found water... His thoughts trailed off, when choosing a campsite, the most logical place to locate is near a source of water and there had to be one nearby or why else would animals still populate these woods. Therefore he would need to follow the animals to the water and then he could find his way out of the forest and from there, finding the camp would be no problem at all.

Hastily he tore off a piece of his shirt, wrapping it tightly around the wound on his arm. Blood continued to flow, seeping through the cloth until it finally slowed and eventually stopped altogether. Strider estimated that, between deciding which way to go and fighting the wolf off, he had lost just under two hours and could not afford to lose anymore time. And so set out to find the river.

Several hours later found Strider still trying to find the river. He'd also been unsuccessful in finding an animal to follow to a river source. Short on luck, he was starting to grow aggravated not to mention tired and hungry. It'd been almost 18 hours he estimated since he last ate and as for sleep, well he couldn't afford that. These woods were dangerous; since defeating the wolf, he'd narrowly dodged two other wolves and a coyote.

As he trudged on, he decided that he would have to find some fruits or berries to hold him until day light when lighting a fire would not be such a danger by attracting unwanted animals that were hungry for some fresh meat. And he would have to put off finding the water supply, at least until he had found some berries. Thus his search turned to finding bushes that bore berries that were safe to eat.

Finding bushes that had berries was not a problem though, that problem lied in their edibility. The first few bushes he found, he immediately recognized the berries to be poisonous. After those there were very few bushes with safe berries and if they were safe, they tended to be overly ripe or had spots of mold on them. And then there was nothing. So he continued on, taking a few turns here and there as he cautiously made his way through the forest until at last he found another bush.

He didn't recognize the berries it bore, but he didn't dismiss them as his growling stomach once again pierced the air around him. Nervous, he glanced around him; in his tiredness he had grown edgy and felt that every noise, no matter how slight or minimal, would attract the hungry animals that preyed on him as he trekked through the forest.

He pulled a few berries off a branch and held them in his palm, examining them as closely as he could in the darkness that surrounded him; thankfully his eyes had grown accustomed to it and he did not really notice the lack of light. He determined that the berries were round and red, but couldn't determine their edibility. Disappointed he stood, tossing the few berries he held onto the ground in utter disgust; his stomach growled and he wavered on his feet. His head felt empty, as he dizzily attempted to regain his footing.

When he finally did, he sat down, the loss of blood and lack of food was finally hitting him; he resigned that he would have to eat the berries or at least test them before moving on. He reached to pluck a single red berry off the nearest branch, allowing it to rest in his palm as he contemplated the effects of the unknown berry. He was struck by another wave of dizziness as he did so. That being the last straw, he tore the berry in half, placing the smaller half in the area between his front teeth and lower lip. He allowed it to rest there as he checked the wound on his arm, gently removing the cloth that bound it.

The teeth marks so far showed no sign of infection, but he knew that that would come in time unless he could clean the wound soon. He resisted the childhood habit he had to pick at the scab the puncture marks now bore. He tore off another piece of cloth, this time smaller than the first for the wound did not bleed anymore and just need to be kept clean of bugs and dirt.

His growling stomach pulled his attention away from the wound, back to the berry that rested in his mouth. He'd had it in his mouth for about twenty minutes now and nothing had happened, but he couldn't be sure just yet that it was safe. Instead he placed the other half in his cheek. Now he'd have to wait for a couple of hours, after all killing himself with poisonous berries would do him no good, but he could go the three days without food if he had to, though it would hamper his ability to find his way out of this forest and back to the camp.

Getting his mind off of the berries and hunger, he turned back to his wound, carefully wrapping the cloth around the wound. He sat there for a moment, bored and wondering what he could do to occupy his time. Then the obvious came to mind, how to find his way out of this forest. Mulling over his plan to follow the animals to a water source, he remembered his failure in doing so and became discouraged. He felt that he would never get out of here.

Once again he realized that Lord Elrond was right, he was now doomed to death, he would die right here in this forest sometime in the next three days for he was nothing but a weak mortal and though he could never claim the title, the only remaining descendent of Isildur, the man whose courage and honor failed him at the time when he needed them the most. Isildur had let down not only the people he'd just saved, but doomed their off springs to death and torment. That is unless an heir of Isildur could restore hope and he was the one fated to do so, but he'd elected the path of exile instead. He now played a part in Isildur's infamous legacy for he had written the end of the history of man, his courage and honor had failed too when man depended on him. In the final war, the descendents of the once prideful race of man, whether they were man, woman or child, would die thus ending the lineage of man.

A few hours later, Strider was so ravenous that he wasn't going to wait for the next step in testing the berry; he didn't really care if it killed him, he likely wouldn't make it out alive anyway, for he couldn't even find the river. So Strider tore a small branch off and began to pluck the berries off the vine, tossing them into his mouth a handful at a time.

It was only a matter of minutes before he was finished, wiping his juice covered hands off on his pants, but it helped little for when his hands dried they were still very sticky. The small amount of food did boost his morale a little though, for he found he could think and concentrate better. And once again, he found himself determined; his earlier moments of despair filed far away in his mind. Rather he found that he wanted to prove that he could belong, that he could find his way out of this forest.

Gathering his courage once again, he got up, picking up the bloodied cloth that once bound the wound on his arm. He could not leave anything that might attract wolves or other ravenous animals; there could be no trace of him... And then it hit him, animals would leave tracks, if he could find the tracks of a deer or some animal that wasn't dangerous, then perhaps he could find the river. So, with his morale boosted and a new plan in hand, he set off to find the tracks.

Light was beginning to filter through the cracks in the forest ceiling when Strider came upon the river, having gained some luck and found it by the first set of footprints he found. His dilemma now, though, was which way to go, up or down the river. On the other hand, he knew now where the directions lied for the sun told him that in front of him was west and behind him east. The river too told him that his right was north and his left south as the river flowed down. Other than that he was still lost about which direction to go in. Instinct told him to go up the river, he couldn't explain why, but he just knew it would be better to go up.

Thus, as he yawned loudly, he set off to his right and followed the river as it winded slowly through the forest. He didn't really see the danger involved in this test, it seemed to him to be more of a test of knowledge and ability, not of courage or honor. In fact the only real test he had endured was the wolf and he'd survived that, rather easily too. And the only real problem he facing now was that he was growing tired, that and he was beginning to get hungry again as he remembered that he had only had berries to sate his hunger until he could find better food. As the thought of food crossed his mind, he realized that he could now stop and fully satisfy his hunger, after all he did have more than two days still to find the camp and it was in only one of two directions.

It took him little more than a few minutes to find wood, leaves, and small twigs needed begin building a fire to cook his food, which he decided would be fish. Thus after getting the fire going, he turned to the river to catch a few fish. And to his surprise luck was with him as he quite easily caught three medium sized fish with his bare hands, a trick taught to him when he was a child. He then found a stick, put the fish on it, held them over the fire to cook, and even though he knew that they would not be done for at least twenty minutes, his stomach would not allow his mind to think that, insisting that he check every few minutes to see how raw the meat still was and every few minutes he became more and more disappointed upon discovering that the fresh meat still had several more minutes to go.

Yet he continued to check it, until at last it was cooked to his satisfaction and he pulled the fish out of the fire. Ravenously he began to pull the meat off, in large chunks and place it in his mouth, not even aware of his surroundings or of the bear that was slowly coming towards the camp grounds. In fact he was so caught up in satisfying his hunger, that he didn't even feel a change in temperature as the bear's shadow fell over him and any sunlight that managed to get past the thick branches of the forest's canopy was blocked out. But Strider continued his fish feast, moving on to the second fish now, as the first was now little more than a skeleton; he was not even aware of the bear behind him, now raising his large claws.

It was too late for any sort of reaction when Strider finally realized that he had company for the claws were just inches away from his shoulders. Yet instinct still told him to pull away and so he did, even as the claws dug into his shoulders. He cried out loudly as the claws tore through his skin, scoring even longer marks as he moved away from the animal. Eventually the bear pulled his claws out and roughly pushed Strider to the ground. Strider winced as the stick that held his breakfast dug into his stomach as he was forced to the ground. He tried to get back up, but the bear kept his front paws on his back, effectively pinning him to the ground and prohibiting any sort of movement. Helplessly he laid there as the bear roared loudly.

And then panic set it and he started to squirm and move, trying to get free from the bear's grasps, but to no avail, instead the bear dug his claws into his back, causing Strider to cry even louder than before and dig his fingertips into the ground. As he slowly became accustomed to the pain and discomfort of having the bear's claws in his back, he started to thrash about again, trying once more to get the bear off his back. But that only angered the bear more as he bit Strider's shoulder to get his prey to stop moving. He was rewarded with a loud cry from his victim and a cessation of any movement.

In the meantime, Strider felt himself slipping into unconsciousness as his body cried out in agony from the bear's vicious attacks; he watched the world from clouding eyes, fighting hard against the black spots that were threatening to overcome him and block out his sight entirely. He felt weak and tired, his energy draining as quickly as his blood was from the various punctures in his skin. Yet, by some grace of the Valar his mind was working, thinking of a solution; trying to formulate a plan that would get him out of this quickly and intact.

Somehow, he was never entirely sure of how, he came up with an idea, crazy as though it seemed, but if he could distract the bear, cause some noise far off like the snapping of a twig or the dropping of an nut, then perhaps he could get free from the grips of the bear and that was when he saw the stone in front of him, just a few inches from his face, but it could have been a few feet from him for all it mattered as reaching it with his left shoulder burning with pain and the muscles in his right arm screaming aloud for mercy was near impossible if not futile; panic began to set in again, but he willed it away from him, instead focusing on reaching the stone lying in front of him. He quelled his thoughts of disbelief and doubt, rather focusing on reaching out in one fluid motion to grasp the stone in his palm, bring his arm down to his side, and toss the stone with all of his might at his designated target.

The stone hit the nearest tree in a matter of seconds, though to Strider it seemed like minutes. Instantly, the bear looked up and released some of the pressure off Strider's back. As soon as that happened, Strider pushed himself off the ground, miraculously finding strength to get to his feet and move away from the bear quickly. Free from the pressure of the bear's weight, his wounds once again flamed and the area on his stomach where the stick had been stuck in, burned even greater than before for the stick had been ripped out, but he gave little time to tend to his wounds for the bear was angered by the distraction and his prey's escape. The two faced one another, the bear roaring loudly and standing tall on his hind legs, while Strider leaned against his knees, trying to regain as much strength as possible before going into battle against an opponent that was easily twice his size and three times his weight.

There was no circling or exchanges of barbs between the opponents before the battle began, rather the bear simply charged, once again catching Strider off guard, but the unsuspecting man was a little more aware this time and able to move to the side. The bear however, was just as able as Strider, moving along with the man. Surprised, Strider continued to move to the side trying without luck to get rid of the bear, but came to a sudden stop as a tree entered his path, blocking his escape. Thus he began to move backwards, slowly at first as he blindly checked out what was behind him, and then quicker when he found it to be safe.

Seeing his prey escaping the bear thrust out his paw, catching the man and tearing a long four long gashes diagonally from his chest to his stomach. Strider cried out in pain, falling back partially from the shock and partially from tripping over a root that appeared out of nowhere. Pulling himself out of the daze from the sudden blow, he took notice of the bear coming towards him and began to crawl backwards on his elbows and feet, but once again was stopped as a tree came into his path.

He let out a light groan, more in surprise than in pain, as his head collided roughly with the bark of the tree. Strider looked around, panicked for a place to go, to escape from the clutches of the carnivorous beast before him, but there was nowhere to go, so with nothing to do he looked up at his hunter, the bear seemed to smile down at Strider as he prepared to make the final blow to end the man's life.

It was something in Strider, though, something born in him that told him not to give up yet. Frantically he searched around for some weapon, some piece of nature he could use; with his hands he groped the ground until he came upon a branch and despite the pain it caused him, he pulled it towards him and as the bear came down jabbed it into the bear's chest. The bear roared loudly, but continued towards Strider, mouth wide open and claws ready for the attack. Desperate, Strider pulled the stick out and jabbed it deeper in the bear's chest. Mortally wounded, the bear cried out again and clawed at the man one last time before landing on the harshly on his prey.

Strider cried out as the bear's claws raked against his skin and then its body landed on his own wounded body. He tried to hang onto consciousness long enough to determine is the bear was yet alive, but was unable to, slipping into oblivion, completely unaware of what was happening around him.


	11. DoubleEdged Sword

Hey there, much quicker of an update. I seem to have more time, especially when I'm waiting three hours for my laundry to get done. But um, I'm trying to get this done before Christmas, then I can start working on my other story. So, please read, relax and review. For disclaimer see chapter one.

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Double-edged Sword

When Strider awoke, he was completely unaware of his surroundings, but the bear was still on top of him and thank the Valar, it was dead. At first he tried to push the bear off of him, but the dead weight of animal was too great for him to handle in his weakened state and so he opted to slide out from underneath the bear and though it took him several tries and a few curses in languages he had forgotten that he knew, he found himself free some odd minutes later; free and quite confused.

As he struggled to sit up, he gazed around at his surroundings, it was still light, but the sun cast shadows in a different way than it had when he passed out. In fact he noticed that it was lowered, which meant that he had little under two days now to find his way back, but he had no clue where he was now, the forest seemed to have moved for the tree that he had bumped his head on no longer stood behind him and the root he tripped over, no longer protruded from the ground, but rather remained hidden underneath. Confusion and pain spread quickly through him as his now day-old wounds burned with a passion, threatening to send him back into unconsciousness.

But he fought hard to remain alert, focusing on taking inventory of his body rather than on the pain he was currently enduring. Most prominent of his wounds were the four long gashes that stretched from his chest to his waist, a nasty bite on his right shoulder which now rendered the arm useless, claw marks on either shoulder that felt as though they were on fire, and a chunk of wood in his stomach from the stick that had been roughly shoved into him when the bear knocked him to the ground.

Moving slightly, he also felt several sharps pains in his back, the result of more claw marks, no doubt. He decided his first task would be to remove the chunk of wood as the foreign object in his body would be the primary culprit of an infection. Wincing, he grabbed onto the wood and very carefully, so as to not cause splinters, pulled it out. When he was halfway done, the wound began to ooze blood, but he continued to pull. A few minutes and several utterances of foul words later, he tossed the chunk aside and reexamined the wound.

Unfortunately the wood had splintered and he now had several tidbits of wood decorating his stomach, but he didn't have the tools to remove them and so left the wound open as he realized that he didn't have enough cloth to bind all of his wounds for his shirt was already in tatters. He turned next to the bite on his shoulder, already it was not looking good, but he didn't have water to cleanse it and remove the dirt it had collected while he laid unconscious on the forest floor during the night. So he was forced to settle for simply binding the wound, hoping that that would prevent any further infection.

The gashes on his stomach, he decided, were too large to be bound completely even though they needed it. Thus he decided to just bind the deepest part, where the gashes would be more likely to bleed from movement. As for the wounds on his back, he was forced to leave them, for he couldn't treat them effectively; he settled for the same on his left shoulder which bore only claw marks, but didn't seem to warrant any immediate attention. Quickly he checked on the wound on his arm, from his earlier battle with the wolf. It was unharmed, which he was grateful for as he would likely need the rest of his shirt to rebind his other wounds later on and didn't really want to waste cloth on the day-old wound.

Having tended to his wounds as best as he could, he tried to find out where he was; nothing seemed to be in the same spot. In fact it seemed as though everything had moved while he was unconscious. Gazing up at the ceiling of the forest, he determined, from what little light shone through, that it was already mid-day, giving him just about a day and a half to complete the task and now he would have to find where he was again. But to his surprise he was not depressed or discouraged by his current situation, rather he was encouraged by it, grateful almost even for the newfound challenge.

But he would get nowhere by sitting here, he thought, thus he moved to stand, but quickly sank back down when pain shot through his body. Clearly he would have to be more careful, he chided himself for being so eager to get going. Using his left arm, as it happened to hurt less, he rolled to his side and then on to his stomach, pushing off the ground with both his hands and feet, trying hard to keep his stomach from bending. He was partially successful, causing himself only minimal pain, but alas he stood, wavering heavily as he tried to gain his balance.

Once he had gained his balance though, his head still felt quite light, almost as if a light breeze would set it off balance and send him tumbling to the ground. Carefully he moved his head around, taking note of his surroundings and trying to find anything that seemed even remotely familiar, but he found nothing. He did feel some idea though, something he, with his foggy mind, couldn't put a finger on. It made sense to him in an abstract way, but nothing concrete, nothing he could put into words, let alone execute. But there seemed no use in staying here, he thought, he would have to get going if he were to ever find his way out in a day and a half.

So he picked up one foot and experimentally placed it in front of him; nothing happened. Still nervous, he cautiously placed his other front in front to take another step and again nothing happened. Feeling rather silly, he chided himself and began to walk, only slightly tired from the yesterday's battle. He was traveling west, for a reason unbeknownst to him, other than it just seemed right.

Hours later, as the sun was beginning to set, Strider was still wondering why he'd decided to travel west. And it was still just as big of a mystery to him. Yet, despite his question, he trusted in his instinct and kept going. Only once did he stop, just before sunset, to check his wounds before he was completely without light. He was relieved that they didn't bleed, but didn't like how they were healing, in fact they weren't. Rather each seemed to be taking on a yellowish tinge, the bite on his shoulder and his stomach wounds appearing to be the worst.

But he had naught to clean them, for the water he had found just yesterday seemed to have disappeared or perhaps it never existed, he thought in his muddled mind, and the forest seemed to have no end. Casually ignoring the newfound knowledge of his wounds, he set forth again, but had taken no more than a few steps before a root popped up and grasped his ankle, sending him flying to the ground. He cried out as his chest impacted harshly with the ground and he felt his head slam into the ground, watching the leaves quickly fade to black.

Strider's first thought when he awoke was that the forest was out to get him and indeed it seem true to his semi-lucid mind for just when everything appeared to be going good, whenever he was making some progress the forest stepping in his path, sending everything into chaos. His second thought, though, was what time was it, for he knew that he was quickly running out of it.

Taking the same actions as before he began to turn his side, but was stopped when his chest exploded in pain and he was sent into a coughing fit. Holding his chest, he leaned on his side. As the coughing subsided, he rolled on to his back, resting there until the pain in his chest faded and he had regained his breath. But even after several minutes, normal breaths seemed out of the question for he found it difficult to draw a deep breath and therefore was reduced to short, quick breaths that drained him of the little energy he was left with.

In his mind, he tossed around ideas of what had happened, what had caused this tremendous pain in his chest and caused his breaths to be shortened. He muddled over the events leading up to his black-out: the root grasping his ankle, falling, his hands flying out to catch him, hitting the ground hard and hearing a loud crack. Then it hit him, he'd broken a rib, probably punctured a lung, he mused to himself, what luck. Still he lay there, for he found that he hadn't the strength to move, not even to roll himself on to his side.

As he lay there, his thoughts drifted until he found the late day sun shining in his eyes. He cursed loudly, realizing that he had fallen asleep and wasted an entire day. He now only had a few hours to find his way out and again, the forest seemed to have shifted.

Quickly despairing, he forced himself up, only to be forced to his hands and knees in a terrible coughing fit. This time the fit lasted longer, stopping after several minutes. He paused, only for a second though, to wipe the saliva that had formed on his lip. Unconsciously he looked at it as he stood, barely noticing the blood that stained the fingers before he wiped his hands on his pants. He continued to travel west, ignoring his gut feeling that he should travel south.

And once again, he hadn't taken more than a few steps when a root slipped up from underground and grasped his ankle, causing him to tumble to the ground. This time, though, he turned on his side, curling up to protect his chest and head. When at last he stopped moving, he opened his eyes, turned on to his back, and began to cry. As the tears strolled down his checks he gave little thought to the idea of a grown man being reduced to tears by a forest, rather he choose to curse the forest.

'Curses be upon this forest,' Strider cried out loud in between sobs. 'What pleasure do you take in my torture?' There was no answer to his query, but hadn't really expected one. He laid there a while longer, thinking and muddling over how this all began. He thought back to Glynn, remembering what his friend had told him as he waited to begin the third stage. He had warned him against becoming a ranger, tried to convince him not to endure the third stage. But Strider had reminded him that this was what he wanted, this was the life that he had chosen.

'This is my choice, don't you see? This is what I want!' He gazed around, sniffing as he tried to halt his tears for they were making breathing difficult. He quickly found himself struggling to breathe and often skipping a breath or two. 'What must I do to prove that to you?'

Much to Strider's surprise, he received an answer, though it sounded more like the howling of the wind than anything else. It didn't sound like much, but somehow he understood it and it angered him.

'I elected not to travel that path! I didn't want it. Don't you understand, that wasn't my choice, I took the alternate path. I chose my own life!' Strider's voice rose as he remembered how this all began, the simple conversation and Lord Elrond's casual coyness about the topic. He hadn't wanted it, not from the moment he heard and he didn't care what happened, one man could not fight off an evil so great that had taken the entire resources of Middle-Earth before. The race of men would fall some time; it was just a matter of when and where. What did it matter if it were at the Black Gate of Mordor or by the passage of time.

'Why must I endure this just to become a ranger? Is it because I'm different, I'm not destined to be a ranger? What happened to choice? Doesn't that count for anything? Don't you see that I'm in charge of my life; me and only me. No one else tells me what to do.'

Again he received an answer, this time though he was forced to strain to make it out. But he liked the answer no more than he liked the previous one.

'I didn't want that. I never have, not even in the slightest. I want to choose my life and this is the life I choose!' Strider's voice calmed, sounding more like he was choking back a sob, 'What must I do to prove that to you?'

He was answered by a rough howl of the wind, but he couldn't make it out, he was trying to hard. Slowing his breath, he worked hard to calm himself, and again heard the wind howl, but this time he understood. The trees had talked to him and told him what he had to do.

Steeling himself against the pain that it would cause, he stood, using the same technique that he had used the past few times. When at last he stood, he forced himself to stand for a minute and simply breathe for he had realized his mistake. He allowed his thoughts to drift back to the moments before he had lost consciousness at the camp, when Glynn was with him telling him to relax for this would all be over before he knew it.

Strider closed his eyes, imagining the words circulating through his body, calming him as they did so. Feeling himself much calmer and more relaxed, he opened his eyes, ready to set out to find the camp. He would have to travel south and quickly for night was quickly setting and only a few hours remained in the test. If he didn't make it out now, he would die, never realizing his dream.

Adrenalin pumped through him as he ran despite the pain from the wounds that somehow penetrate adrenalin's mighty shield. Sweat began to pour down his forehead, stinging his eyes, but it was not from the running for it was a cool night and he hadn't run for long, but rather from the fever. He felt as he wavered between the realms of cold and warm, but ignored it, opting to continuing his long journey.

It was his lungs, in the end that gave out on him though, for he had pushed them too far by running. They simply couldn't handle the heavy breaths he was forcing out of them. He forced himself to run though, his body forcing him to cough and the coughs forcing him to slow, but not stop even as he began to spew blood and saliva he continued to run. And he didn't stop when his lungs stopped and his lips began to turn blue, the color quickly rushing out of his skin. When at last he did stop, he was free of the forest but his skin was deathly pale and his lips a deep shade of blue

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Whew, that's finally done. I think it was harder on me to get him out of there than it was for him. I never fully realized what a challenge it would be to escape a forest with no provisions.

Reviewer's responses (I always wanted to do this! Thanks to my faithful readers!)

**Poppa Jon**- True, the fights with the bear and the wolf would have lasted longer in reality, but remember that this is a strange forest, strange things are bound to happen. I've also tried not to dwell on three days because most of it is narration and I'm trying not to bore everyone with the tedious details. As for the ending, that of course remains unknown, even to me at times.

**Grumpy**- thanks for keeping up with the story this past year. Nope, there won't be much of Strider left by the end of all of this, or so it seems.

**Joslin**- is this soon enough for you?

**Sielge**- Um, the shoulder, don't know. Maybe, maybe notâ€ I'm still deciding.


	12. Death by any other name

Wow I'm really getting going on this story. I know that this little bit is really short, but it just works so well. So this is kind of a weekday treat, just remember the three R's: read, relax, and review. Disclaimer, because I only wish that I owned LOTR, is in chapter one, I think.

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Death by any other name

It was the warmth of the early morning sunlight that forced Strider awake. His last memory was struggling to breathe while running through the forest. He had made it too when he had fallen just on the outskirts of the forest. Forcing his eyes open, he looked up at the sky. It was a beautiful day, not a cloud in the sky and he was grateful for it for he missed the sky. Yet something felt wrong, but he couldn't quite place it. He thought over things for a minute and then he realized he was breathing; he was taking slightly deeper breaths than before. He quickly took inventory of his body; everything else was just as before. His stomach still bore the claw marks and his shoulder the bite, but he was breathing; he was alive.

Strider rolled to his side and got up like he had before. He winced as his stomach flashed with pain, but he bit back the pain. Looking around at his surroundings he noticed that he was on the outskirts of the forest, but it was the next day, he'd failed and now he would die. Or perhaps, he thought to himself, he was already dead and this was where he was to spend the rest of eternity, faced with the place of his failure. He took a few nervous steps, wanting to ere on the side of caution until he found out where he was. He took a few steps back into the forest, testing out his surroundings. Everything seemed perfectly normal, but he felt a certain strangeness about him, almost an unearthly feeling; like he was here to do something.

'What do you want with me?' he called out, hoping to receive an answer like he had in the forest; there was no response. 'Why am I here? Am I dead? Answer me! Please!' he begged. He waited several minutes, but there was no answer. Allowing his emotions to get the best of him, he fell to his knees, lowered his head and let pity take charge as the tears began to stream down his cheeks. He'd lost everything, all of his choices; his life was controlled by some outside force.

A slight breeze rustled the leaves, but Strider paid no attention to it, or to the coldness that fell over him, though he shivered from it. Something warm touched his chin, slowly caressing the stubble that had grown as it lifted up his head. He was momentarily blinded by the bright light that shone down on him, but when he opened his eyes once more, standing before him was a beautiful woman. Her fair complexion was laced with worry and concern for him, but didn't tarnish her beauty. Her long white dress flowed gently with a mysterious wind as it draped over her slender figure. Strider stared at her with wonder and awe, feeling her silken hair brush against his cheek.

'Aragorn, son of Arathorn,' her voice was hollow, but full of power nonetheless. Strider was startled by the name, but didn't answer. 'Elessar, the Elfstone of the house of Elendil, answer me,' she commanded.

'I am not the one you seek,' he replied, solemnly.

'You are the child of Arathorn the second, raised in the House of Elrond by the Lord Elrond himself, are you not?'

'Aye,' was the simple reply.

'Then it is you that I call for,' she politely chided the man before her.

'But I am not the one you seek,' he repeated.

'Why do you hold on to such nonsense? Why do you continue to deny yourself the rights of your birth?'

'Aye, I am Aragorn, son of Arathorn by birth, but not by choice.' The lady gazed down at him for a second.

'Of what do you speak?'

'I chose the other path. I forsook my rights and chose the life of a commoner.'

'Oh,' she seemed rather startled, 'now I understand, but I see that you do not.' There was a long pause as they both waited on the other to speak, in the end it was the lady who spoke first.

'No one who has been set on this Middle-Earth is ever just a commoner. Each has a purpose, a reason for living. You could never choose the life of a commoner, no more than you could fully forsake the rights of your noble birth.'

'But I chose exile,' Strider countered.

'You were born in exile; you have lived your entire life in exile and whether you like it or not the path you have chosen will lead you from exile.'

'I don't want it! I don't want that burden!' Strider cried to the lady, the tears forming different paths down his red cheeks. She remained still though, unfazed by his words and his tears. 'What if I choose another path?'

The lady smiled and laughed softly, 'Young Aragorn, you don't understand, every path you take leads to the Throne of Gondor. Whether you like it or not you will die with the crown of Gondor resting upon your head,' she paused for a second. 'It is only a matter of time. Evil has already begun to stir, black smoke begins to vent from the land of Mordor. In time you will find the strength within you and you will gather all that is good in the world, uniting the peoples of Middle-Earth as one in the final battle of this Age. It is all up to you, but you will not be alone in your journey. You will find strength in others, courage in unknown places for you are Aragorn Elessar and it is your destiny.'

'Why?' was Strider's simple reply.

'That I cannot tell you; you will have to find that for yourself. But I caution you not to let it consume your life, for you are bound to this world until you have completed your task; the one task that has been set before you.'

Strider opened his mouth to speak, but the lady covered it with her hand.

'Go now Aragorn Elessar and fulfill your destiny.' And with that Strider felt himself begin to float. He watched as the lady started to fade.

'Wait, who are you?' he called out, but it was too late, she was gone and he was slowly floating to the ground.

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Reviewer's responses

**Isadora2**- Thanks for sticking with the story. I've found that now that I'm in college I have more time, strange how that works. But I'd never abandon a story, just wait a little bit to work on it.

**sielge-** Um, don't know about camp, see he's in a bit of a situation right now, don't exactly know how it's going to work out.

**Grumpy-** Alive to see another day, hmm, give me some time to think about that one. I don't know how it's going to turn out yet. But thanks for sticking with the story.

**Poppa Jon- **Are you sure about the three times, I didn't think I'd hurt him that many times. But he's got to endure a lot to become the Aragorn we all know and love.


	13. Oh Captain, My Captain'

Well, another chapter, on time even. Um, not much else to say, just remember to read, relax, and review. Oh and see chapter one for the disclaimer because I only wish I owned LOTR.

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'Oh Captain, My Captain'

As soon as Strider felt himself hit he opened his eyes, but he didn't know that he had his eyes closed. The sky was dark and he lay with his head staring up at the stars and his feet still in the forest, but he still breathed, even down here he breathed. He looked up at the sky and somehow knew that it wasn't midnight yet; he still had time in the test. Quickly he rolled over and pushed off like he had so many times before. When he rose he turned and saw something familiar, something that gave him the hope and courage to complete his task; he saw a fire. Beside it stood three men; Strider recognized them. Without a thought he took off running, ignoring the memory of what had happened before, reaching the fire in a matter of seconds. The three men turned to face him.

'I am here, my captain,' Strider lowered his head in respect for his captain. Yestin's face twisted slightly as he forced himself not to show his pride in Strider, at the same time however he looked the man over carefully, but quickly so as to not be noticed. He was covered in cut and bruises; his own blood mixed with dirt to add a reddish tinge to his skin; and his eyes showed his weariness, even if his body did not.

'Aye you are,' he responded stoically, forcing himself to ignore the wounds, 'and you have passed the test.' Strider allowed his shoulders to sink in relief. 'But you are not a ranger yet for there is one more step.'

'I am ready, my captain,' Strider straightened himself and raised his head to meet his captain's glance. 'What must I do?'

'Go out to the furthest stretch of the camp and keep watch until the sun rises in five hours time.' Strider gave him a strange look, 'Do not be easily fooled by the simplicity of this task for it will challenge you in a way that you have not been in the past three days. You will battle an unseen enemy as you await the sun's first glare. Go now and wait for sunrise.'

With that Strider turned to find the farthest reach of the camp. Once he reached it, he found a spot on the grass and settled down to wait for sunrise as he had been told to do. Not even twenty minutes later, when the adrenalin began to diminish from his system and the thrill and excitement of having made it out of the forest, thus completing the third stage wore off he began to rub his eyes, trying to get rid of the first effects of sleep. Ten minutes later he began to yawn and found that he could not stop, not even the pain that was trying to force its way back would keep him awake. Another five minutes later he felt his eyelids droop and felt his body falling forwards, but managed to catch himself before he tumbled on to the grass. Quickly he stood, true he was awake now, but he didn't trust himself to sit. Standing, he decided would be much better, yes, he thought to himself, much better. Already he felt much more awake than he had been even thirty minutes ago.

But it took no more than thirty minutes until he began to feel the effects of sleep again, even though he stood. He began with rubbing his eyes, but didn't allow it to go any further as he began to pace. But alas that didn't work as he soon found his eyelids drooping even as he paced. Clearly, he thought, there had to be a better way of staying awake. Searching for an answer, he stopped to look up at the sky. It was a clear night; he could see every single star in the sky.

After several minutes, though, of gazing up at the sky his neck began to ache, but he didn't want to take his eyes off the stars, they were so beautiful, he hadn't looked at them in so long, since he left Rivendell, he recalled. How could he have forgotten such beauty that even dared to rival that of the Evenstar. Strider recalled when he first met her; it was a week before his eighteenth birthday. She was there to see Elladan for he had been terribly wounded during an Orc hunt and they did not expect him to survive the week. She never left her brother's bedside, for which Strider was very grateful as they spend the days comforting one another until Elladan had regained his health. He was infatuated with her from the moment he saw her enter the gates, but he never let Lord Elrond know nor his brothers for she was his sister and thus he could only dream of being wed to her. That is until a few days before his twentieth birthday when she arrived once again, this time to celebrate the Coming of Age of her youngest brother. He remembered everything about the day.

He was walking in the gardens when he came upon her sitting by the warm springs in the middle. She was dangling her feet in the water for it was a chilly day.

'Arwen,' he began, 'I did not expect to see you out here.'

'And why not little brother? Is it not a lovely day for sitting in the gardens?' she replied playfully.

'Yes, but it is a little chilly.'

'Cold does not affect elves, has eighteen years in the House of Elrond not taught you that?'

'Of course it has, but... I mean... you are...' he trailed off, as her laughing over took his stammering. Slightly embarrassed, he blushed and then when he realized that he had, he tried to hide it by turning away.

'Is there something wrong ion nin?' she asked him.

'Nay,' he answered his head down, still facing away from her.

'Then why do you turn from me? Does my look hurt you?' She sounded saddened, yet concerned for his well-being.

'Nay,' he turned quickly, 'it does not. It never would. You have a beauty indescribable.' Now it was her turn to blush, taken aback by the remark, she lowered her head for a moment, to regain her composure.

'That is very sweet of you, ion nin,' she looked at her brother, 'but there seems to be something more.'

'Nay,' he answered her, 'there is only what cannot happen.'

'Of what do you speak?'

'Nothing, 'tis nothing dear sister, just a foolish dream,' he shook his head, lowering it slowly until he stared at the ground. He heard the water ripple slightly, her legs playfully kicking in the water, no doubt he thought until he felt a soft touch under his chin. She lifted his head up until their eyes met.

'Tell me of it, for naught is foolish if two have the same dream.'

He sighed, thinking back to that day, he could still remember her hand caressing his cheek as they shared their feelings for each other; the scent of her hair as she leaned over to whisper in his ear, telling a tale of their brothers when they were elflings. He wanted to tell Lord Elrond, but she wouldn't let him; she said it was too dangerous. She couldn't tell him why, he just had to promise not to tell anyone of their love for one another. Even now he loved her, even now he thought, now that their love was forever forbidden. Arwen, that was the one thing he missed, the one elven thing he truly wanted back. He would do anything for her; he would even beg Elrond to forgive him, if only he could have her back. But that was impossible for Elrond would forbid it, regardless.

As he drifted back to reality, he found that he was lying on the ground, but not tired in the slightest. With his hands he traced the stars, going from the Cradle of Ilúvatar where life sprang out of across the sky to the House of Elendil, the ancestral home of the Heirs of Isildur and Kings of Elendil. The house was upside down, a sign of the turmoil in the House of Elendil for the line of kings was broken many years ago by Isildur and so the Valar set it upside down to show Middle-Earth of the Disappointment of Man.

He looked up at the House, the stars seemed to be rather dim tonight despite the clear sky; even the Cradle of Ilúvatar even seemed dimmer tonight, but the one star that shone brightly, more than usual was the Star of Elendil, at the tip of the House, holding everything together lest it should crumble to pieces. Already it seemed to be, over time the stars had moved out of alignment, causing the walls to be crooked. The House was falling apart before the eyes of Middle-Earth; many said it could fall before the end of this Age.

Surprisingly he felt more calm and at ease as he laid on the grass wet from the night's dew. He listened to the gentle flow of the river, crashing gently against the banks as it flowed; he listened to the crickets' song, singling out one as he listened to it play a solo for him. Before long, though, he felt the first rays of heat as the sun crept up to the horizon and started to block out the stars. Soon he would complete the final task, just another twenty minutes and the sun would first appear on the horizon. Then he could return to camp and claim his right to be called a Ranger.

Standing, he stretched and stood with his hands on his hips. The pain from his wounds had fades as he stood waiting for the sun to rise. And sure enough, the sun rose twenty minutes later at which time he turned to head back to camp, but in front of him stood Glynn, his ranger brooch, shinning brightly in the early morning light.

'My friend,' he began, 'why have you come?'

'I am here to escort you back to camp Strider, this test is over,' Glynn didn't seem his normal self, but he wasn't as stoic as Yestin or Romney were, but still it made him nervous. Yet he followed behind the healer as they made the short trip to the center of camp. There stood Yestin and Romney, their expressions had not changed. Glynn stopped a few feet in front of Yestin, motioning for Strider to stand before Romney.

'My captain, this morning I present to you Strider and ask you to take under consideration him as a member of this unit. I ask for you to bestow upon him the title of Ranger and grant him the kinship and honor that comes with the title.'

'Why?' The reply was blunt.

'Thus far he has met all of the qualifications to be called a ranger. Last night shortly before midnight, he returned to camp escaping from the forest in less than three days time. And just now he has completed the final test. By all rights he is a Ranger.'

'All but one,' Yestin replied.

'Aye,' Glynn agreed. Their conversation seemed rehearsed, like it was a standard dialogue.

'Can you vouch for this man, this stranger?'

'Yes, my captain. He has proven himself worthy of the title; he will not let his fellow rangers down.'

'You swear this upon your Oath, upon your own life,' Yestin looked hard into the healer's eyes trying to force him to blink.

'I swear this upon my own life,' Glynn asserted firmly, touching his ranger brooch as a sign of his honor, 'that he will uphold the honor and dignity of the rangers.'

'As you swear this, take a step back and allow Strider to come forth.' Glynn stepped back, giving Strider the room to move over and face Yestin directly.

'This man has just sworn his life that you will uphold the honor and dignity of the rangers? Will you spare his life?'

Without hesitation Strider answered, 'Yes, I will.'

'Then kneel and endure the Oath of the Ranger.'

Strider slowly moved to his knees, but kept his eyes on Yestin; he wasn't too fond of the word endure; it had a nasty connotation after trekking through the forest for three days and nearly dying.

'Strider, stranger,' Strider felt a slight pang of guilt when all that was said after his name was stranger, that was all he was to people, a stranger, 'will you swear to uphold the codes and honor that the fallen kings of Arnor, descendents of Isildur set in place and this kinship of rangers has fought to protect?'

'Aye, I will' Strider answered.

'And will you go to the aid of others who cannot defend themselves without worry or concern for your own life; will you answer the call of the rangers whenever they should call, no matter where you are; will you fight for justice and swear upon the truth for the sake of the good; and will you fight for the right of others to live that they may have voices of their own and be part of this world?'

'I will.'

'Then put forth your right palm,' Strider raised the requested hand without hesitation. Yestin pulled, from his waist, a small dagger. Light from the early morning sun hit the markings on the blade, making them shine brightly. Yestin grabbed a hold of Strider's hand and cut horizontally across his palm with the knife, leaving a three inch long gash on the man's hand. Strider hardly noticed the pain, as the pain from his own wounds was now beginning to come back.

'Repeat after me Strider. By the spilling of this blood from my body, I swear to remain true to the rangers and live amongst them until death departs me from this world.'

'By the spilling of this blood from my body I swear to remain true to the rangers and live amongst them until departs me from this world,' Strider kept his eyes locked on Yestin as he repeated the oath.

'Take this,' Yestin placed a brooch in Strider's bloody palm, 'then, the Brooch of the Rangers, for I now bestow upon you the title of Ranger. You are now entitled to all of the rights of the rangers, but a word of caution. Do not take this new title lightly; you spend your life in many dangers for the life of a ranger is not an easy one.'

'Aye, my captain,' Strider answered his new captain formally.

'Rise now and be accepted by your brothers.' With that Strider rose, though he was rather unsteady, he tried to hide it but his wavering was not missed by Glynn, who immediately rushed to his side.

'I am fine my friend, I just need a little nourishment for I haven't eaten anything substantial in a few days nor have I had a drink,' Strider tried to reassure the healer of his health.

'I am not an idiot Strider; I can see that you have sustained grievous wounds. It is a wonder to me that you have been able to make it this far, but with that pigheaded mind of yours set on nothing but becoming a ranger I should not be surprised at all. You're just a foolish kid, nothing but a foolish kid who wants everything for himself; a foolish, greedy kid,' as Glynn railed on he failed to notice Strider's rapidly decreasing condition. The man was beginning to sway heavily on his feet, his finger tips began to lose color, and his face began to drip with water. It was only when he heard a gasping and choking, that Glynn looked over to see Strider standing with feverish, glazed over eyes, struggling to get a breath. When Glynn laid him on the ground Strider had stopped breathing and when Yestin knelt beside the new ranger, he did not live.

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Reviewer's Responses

**Poppa Jon- **gee, I didn't remember'd all of those times, but thanks for the refresher.

**viggomaniac-** thanks for the corrections, you're right about that though. I'll probably go back and change those things when the story's done. I don't take it as a criticism, in fact I appreciate you noticing the mistakes.

**Isadora2-** yeah, I shouldn't have more time in college, but I do, it's very strange, but I like it.

**grumpy-** well he found the rangers, but will he be with them for long?

**sielge**- well here's another chapter, hope you like it


	14. Hands

Wow, chapter 14, this is the farthest I've ever gotten on a story. Um, I like it though. So remember the three r's, read, relax, and review. Yes there will be a quiz at the end. For disclaimer see chapter one, I don't know the title.

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Hands

Glynn had been quick to curse himself for allowing his emotions to get the better of him while Strider deteriorated right in front of him, but the healer in him had forced him to push aside those feelings of guilt while he worked on the man, trying everything he could to save him. It was all over now; he'd done everything he could. The extent of Strider's wounds had stretched his medical knowledge, for there was only so much one man could do. After it was all over, he leaned back, just for a second looking at his hands. They were stained with so much blood he doubted that he would ever get it all off.

He could remember Yestin calling to him, a rough hand on his shoulder. What had he said?

'It's all right, you did everything you could.'

That was it, everything was all right. Sure, all right. He didn't believe that when he knelt beside Strider anymore than when he stood looking down at the man, surrounded by a mess of bloody bandages and half-used herbs.

'How is he?' that was the question they all asked him as he walked through the camp. He wished he could say it was just wait and see, but it wasn't. Instead he said nothing, the men got the idea quickly, but it didn't stave their looks nor their curiosity.

'How did it happen?'

'Are you sure?'

'Is it true what I heard?'

He didn't bother answering, he just kept walking. He began to scratch at his hands; he had to get to the river. Sanity told him that the river wouldn't move anymore than the blood would stain him, but he was not in control right now for the river seemed to get further away the faster he moved and the more furiously he scratched. Even as he was just feet away from the river, the distance seemed to be miles.

He thrust his hands into the river, furiously scrubbing to get the blood off. It was coming off, but he didn't notice; he didn't see it etching out the current of the river as it worked its way back to camp, for all he could see was what still rested upon his hands. Even after the blood was gone, he scrubbed his hands. In fact it wasn't until he caught a glimpse of red again that he stopped.

It was his shirt, he realized and it too was stained with blood. Frantically, he tried to get it off, pulling it over his head, but the harder he worked at getting it off, the more he got caught up in it. Finally he just ripped the shirt, tearing it down the middle until he could easily get it off. And as he tossed it into the river, he stopped. His transformation back into sanity was as quick and abrupt as his departure. He stood by the river for a moment, collecting himself.

He knew that he could not go back to camp, not yet at least for he wasn't yet prepared to deal with the barrage of questions, everything was too fresh, the past events too new, he could still see Strider's look of panic as he fell to the ground, that last look as consciousness fled from him, he knew it was coming, but he also knew that it wasn't like before, he knew that he wouldn't wake three hours later. Not this time.

Everything was too vivid; he could remember exactly how his hands moved, so quickly and fluidly; the commands he shouted to anyone who would listen and obey.

'Go fetch my bag!' he had shouted. No one left. 'Someone, fetch my bag,' he tried again.

'Romney, go get the bag,' Yestin took charge of the situation. Romney returned only seconds later, the bag in his hands. Glynn grabbed it from him and began to rummage through it. He knew what he was looking for, but in his panic he couldn't think of it, he couldn't picture it until he found it. A small package of herbs that he held for only the direst of situations and this was certainly it.

'I need water,' he called out, 'hot water to cleanse his wounds.' Someone ran off to restart the fire and get some water boiling. 'And some towels,' he added.

'What are his chances,' Yestin asked.

'I don't know,' he paused; things were happening so fast, it was hard to put everything in perspective, 'Everything depends on his will to live.'

Bringing him back to life, Glynn remembered as he sat, leaning against a rock that littered the side of the river, was hard work. It wasn't easy force air in to a man who refused to breath, without killing him.

Logic told even the smallest of persons that if someone was not breathing the only way to get them to breath again was to get them to take in air. That wasn't the hard part, it was how to get the air in them, how to get them to take air again. Years ago there were many methods, but none were truly effective. It took healers years to realize the most obvious of methods, pressing down on the chest where the lungs were and breathing into the mouth to put air into the lungs. The main problem with this method, Glynn thought as he pushed down on Strider's chest, was breaking the sternum. You couldn't push too hard, but not real light either otherwise it would be ineffective.

Push down five or six times and then breathe air into their mouth and eventually the body would kick in and they would begin to take breaths on their own, just like before. That was how it was supposed to work, but sometimes it didn't. Strider was strong willed though, and Glynn firmly believed that he would come back. It had to be quick, if he were gone for more than a few minutes his mind might act differently, function at a slower rate than before.

Push down and breathe. Push down and breathe, that's the key.

Not surprising he himself was out of breath after just ten minutes of trying to get Strider to simply take a breath. Thus he sat back to wait as he regained his breath. If Strider were going to take another breath, now would be the time.

All the time he was working on Strider, something was telling him that there was something more; another reason for his saving Strider, something more than just duty or friendship. He didn't care about it before and now that he could think about it, he couldn't place the feeling.

'Glynn,' someone was trying to get his attention; the voice was a little unsure, but it pulled the troubled healer out of his thoughts nonetheless. Glynn looked up; it was his captain, out to see how he was doing, no doubt. Glynn sighed, he really didn't want to be checked on, but he wasn't about to argue with his captain, he just didn't have the energy.

'Yes sir?' he stood quickly, forcing himself to be a ranger.

'Don't worry about formalities Glynn. I'm here as your friend, not your captain.' He sat down on the rock that Glynn had been leaning against, a sign of his informality. Glynn stood for an awkward moment before taking his seat again.

'I know what you're going to say Yestin, but it won't help,' Glynn cut to the chase. Yestin gave a sigh of frustration; Glynn lowered his head in frustration over Yestin's persistence.

'What is it going to take to prove to you that you did everything you could,' Yestin asked. 'There's just too much damage. His injuries would have stretched even the most experienced of healers.'

'I know, but I,' he paused for a second to think of the words, 'I can't quite explain it, but I feel that he's something more. Like he's not supposed to die; like something bad would happen if he was to.'

Glynn's words vibrated through him, forcing him to recall his own feelings about Strider and the letter he'd received.

'I mean, like he was something more in this world; that there were greater stakes attached to his life. And his death has a greater importance than yours or mine would have,' he interrupted himself. 'But how could that be,' he thought aloud, 'he's just an ordinary man, just like you and me, isn't he. He would have told us if there was something greater about him, right?' Glynn was now facing Yestin, a curious look in his eager eyes as he waited for an answer.

But Yestin didn't know what to say, should he tell him what he knew; did he dare mention the letter?

'I don't think so,' Yestin answered. Glynn's look of curiosity changed to one of puzzlement.

'What do you mean, why wouldn't he tell us?'

'I can't tell you, Glynn,' he paused, 'I'm sorry, but I can't say anything.'

Glynn turned back around, he was confused. What was it that Yestin couldn't tell him; something more about Strider.

'I'm sorry. I shouldn't have said anything,' Yestin apologized again, 'I sought you out to ease your guilt. You've got to let go, you did everything you could,' Yestin quickly changed the subject.

'But...' Glynn began.

'No Glynn,' Yestin stood. 'I've said too much already, I've sworn not to reveal anything. In time, you will learn the truth and you will understand.' Yestin looked down at Glynn, he didn't understand, 'Just forget about it, Glynn. Let it go for now.'

Glynn watched Yestin walk slowly back into camp, leaving him wondering what had just happened. What did Yestin know that he couldn't tell, what was so important about Strider? There was some truth to his feelings, but he couldn't say what, however now he knew that there was something greater at stake than just a life with Strider's death.

Suddenly, the thought struck him, threatening to knock his mind off the delicate balance it was on. The adrenalin must be wearing off, he thought to himself for the reality of the early morning's events was setting in and it was none too pleasant. Yet it still seemed too surreal, he could still hear himself telling Strider that everything would be okay, just to relax and this would all be over before he knew it. The younger man had taken the words to heart, believed every word with utter naivety. Thinking back to the look on Strider's face, on his friend's face, he cursed himself again.

It was times like this that made him hate being a ranger, hate his heritage. Perhaps it would have been better if he had listened to his father.

'The life of a ranger ain't pretty, son,' he said.

'But father, I want to go. Don't you see, I want to be like you,' he had pleaded with his father. His father easily fought back a smile; he was used to this by now.

'I know son, but this ain't the life I want for ya,' he shifted on his seat, waiting for his son's patterned response.

'But what about what I want? What about that father? It's my life, not yours; let me live it how I choose.'

'Cause, ya don't know what ya're gettin' yarself into. Ya don't know the life of a ranger, all ya thinkin' about are the heroics son. Ya don't know how dangerous it is. Ya don't know how horrible we live, ya don't know son. An' I don't want ya to know, so forget about it.'

'But, father,' he pleaded.

'I don't wanna hear it. Go out an' feed the chickens.'

Glynn couldn't bear to look at his father anymore, he made him so mad. He just didn't understand. He didn't care about the harsh life; he could handle it. He'd be the best ranger there ever was, he thought as he walked to the chicken house. He'd slay Orcs and come to the rescue of fair maidens and beautiful princess', delivering them back to their fathers' before night fell.

He could see himself now, wearing that green cloak. A lone rider enters the camp, Lady Meinwen, first daughter of King Thengel and Queen Morwen, was taken during the night by barbarians seeking ransom from the King of Rohan. They would have to infiltrate the camp, rescue the young princess, and bring her back to Edoras, without causing any trouble. There was only one man for this job, only one man with the ability to sneak in and out without being noticed.

He reluctantly accepted the job, really he wasn't that good. But he was grateful for the praise; really he was just like everyone else. No, no you can do, his captain would encourage him. The men would back him up with a rousing yes, cheering him on as he mounted his horse. Sure the mission was dangerous, but he couldn't leave Lady Meinwen in the clutches of barbarians. He rode out quickly, for it was the sun was rising fast and he had miles to go. But Vevina, the majestic mare that he had rescued from the wild and brought back from near death, moved with lightning speed. She knew of the promise he had made, by life or death, he would return the princess by night fall.

It was around noon when he found the camp. Dismounting his horse, he quietly moved closer to the camp, peering at it behind a line of bushes. He quickly spotted Lady Meinwen; she was sitting on the ground next to a burly, gruff man. Her hands were bound in front of her and her eyes blindfolded. In all there were about twenty men, he was a little disappointed, this wouldn't even be a challenge, he'd fought and defeated more.

Sighing slightly, he prepared to charge into the camp. In broad daylight, there was no easy way of sneaking into camp, his captain hadn't realized that. As he leaped over the bushes, he pulled out his sword and let out a loud battle cry. Startled, the barbarians looked up at him. They were quick on their feet, grabbing their swords and beginning the charge before he had even landed. But he was prepared for them and met their blades as he touched the ground. Their feeble swords skills, though, were no match for his mastery of the blade and so he was able to quickly able to defeat them, dispatching them from Middle-Earth in a mere matter of minutes.

After he removed the blindfold and unbound her hands, Lady Meinwen gave him a big hug, thanking him for saving her.

'We're not out of the woods yet, my Lady,' he told the little girl as he picked her up.

'I know, but you have saved me from those nasty barbarians,' her blue eyes sparkled as he looked at him. He smiled at the way she spoke, her lady like exterior marred by her childish interior. Carefully, though, he put her up on Vevina and then climbed up himself.

'Noro lim, Vevina, noro lim,' he spoke quietly to his horse. He had long ago mastered the language of the Elves and often used it to speak to his horse for it comforted her. She rushed them across the plains of Rohan, reaching Edoras before the sun began to set. The king and queen rushed out as he dismounted his horse and reached up to grab Lady Meinwen. She rushed to her mother as soon as he set her down. Queen Morwen picked her up and gave her a big hug.

'Oh, how can we ever thank you for returning our daughter safely back to us,' she said; her voice was soft and elegant.

'There is no need,' he was nonchalant. 'Tis my duty to rescue those in need and dispel the evil of that inhabits this land.'

'Oh, you're such an honorable man. If only there were more men like you. You're my hero.'

'Glynn!' a rough voice called to him. 'Glynn quit that foolish day dreamin' son. Ya've got work to do.'

'What,' he was startled at being pulled out of his thoughts so abruptly.

'I said ya've got work to do. Now get to it!'

His father left as quickly as he came; went back to work on the house. Glynn glared at his father's back, he'd show him, he'd be a great ranger. Just wait and see, he thought.

Hastily he grabbed the bag of chicken feed, but it was too heavy for him to lift. He let out a curse, kicking the bag as he did so. It promptly fell onto its side, spilling its contents onto the floor. Glynn let out another curse as he began to pick up the mess, father would be angry if he wasted the food, they couldn't afford to lose the chickens to starvation.

His father made him so mad, he could be a ranger. He'd show him; even if he had to runaway he would prove it to him, he'd show him. Then it hit him, that was it, that was how he'd become a ranger. He would runaway and he'd be helping his father for with him gone, there'd be one less mouth to feed. Yes, he'd sneak out of the house tonight. His plans set he quickly worked on picking up the food and began to feed the chickens.

He had to wait on his father to go to bed before he could even start to pack. He didn't plan on taking much, just he bare essentials. Hastily he moved around, wading up an extra set of clothes and stuffing them in the bag. On top of that went some food he'd stolen from the kitchen. That was about all he needed, after all if he were to be a ranger he'd have to learn out to live in the wild.

Walking out of the house, without making a noise wasn't easy in the dark, but at last he made it. He remembered that his father had come from the north, so that must be where he had taken leave of the rangers and thus they must be in that direction.

'Glynn,' a gruff voice called to him. 'Glynn,' there was a hand on his shoulder as the voice tried again. He turned, surprised at who he saw.

'What,' he asked, slightly angered.

'Come quickly, it's Strider.'

* * *

Am I evil? Let me see, (flips through dictionary), yep there's my picture next to the word evil.

Reviewer's responses:

**Isadora2-** Yeah college is fun. I'm taking playwriting, understanding language, beginning german, calculus and beginning swimming. I'd like to be a screenwriter after college. I think I'm going to major in English, though I'm not sure how I'm going to like that, I'm probably going to be crazy by the end of the four years.

**sielge**- Um, kill Strider right, I'm working on it. Oh, oh don't kill him, that's what you said- I don't know about that one.

**twitch-**Yup, I sure did.

**Poppa Jon-** (does Homer impression) mmm, cliff hangers, the cause and solution to all of life's problems. Yes I've read the Lay of Aragorn and Arwen, but like you mentioned this is AU, so I decided let's really mess with the timeline. And it still works outs, except he's dead. Oops, didn't quite mean to do that.

**viggomaniac-** ahh, sweet torture. Nothing's more soothing than the cries of Aragorn as that leather whip laced with metal hits the back. Oh, don't worry if its Aragorn that needs CPR, I'll give it to him, after all I was the one who put him in the situation.

**grumpy**-the poor guy, he just isn't safe in my hands. Anyway, I hope Glynn's a good healer too.

As always thanks to those who took the time to review and thanks to everyone who has stuck with the story and kept reading.


	15. Of Awakenings and Ahappenings

Keep on writing, that's it just ignore the tv, don't pay attention to Stargate: SG1 even though it's season seven and Daniel's back. Oh, you're there which means that this chapter is done, I hope. (looks down at text) Yep it's done. I think this is going to go on longer than I thought, see I orginally planned sixteen chapters, but that turned into eighteen or twenty and now it's looking like a little more than that, perhaps I need to have another planning session with my plot bunnies, the darn little things they're worse than the dust bunnies. But anyway please read, relax, and review. I don't own LOTR so see chapter one to see who does.

* * *

Of Awakenings and A-happenings

When Glynn knelt beside Strider he was surprised by what he saw: two gray eyes staring up at him. They were filled with pain, but also held concern for his friend's absence. Instinctively he placed his hand on Strider's chest, feeling the strong, steady beating of his heart.

'He awoke a few minutes ago,' Tudor, his young apprentice, told him. 'I thought I should let you know.' His young apprentice stood nervously behind him, waiting for some reaction from the healer. Normally his teacher was a compassionate man and would praise him for his attentiveness and thoughtfulness, but today Glynn seemed rather off and dazed, almost like he wasn't totally there.

'Yes, thank you,' he muttered plainly as he quickly waved Tudor off. Dejected, the boy wandered off, leaving Glynn seemingly mesmerized by Strider's awakening.

'Glynn,' Strider's voice was horse and weak and it failed to attract his attention. 'Glynn,' he strained himself this time and got some recognition. The older man looked at him, his blank eyes meeting Strider's pained ones, but that was all the acknowledgment he got from Glynn.

'Glynn, my friend,' he tried yet again as he slowly moved his good arm across his chest to touch Glynn's hand that still rested upon him feeling every beat of his heart and every breath he drew. Glynn flinched at the touch and blinked. Strider gave a slight smile, trying to alleviate some of the tension between them and at the same time inviting Glynn to do likewise, but he did not, instead remaining plain faced.

'My friend,' Strider's voice grew weaker, now sounding like a mere echo, 'What troubles you? Why are you so somber and sullen?'

Glynn glanced at his hand before answering; why was he so somber and sullen, he thought to himself. He had no reason for Strider yet lived. In time Strider would heal and take his place among the rangers, living as one of them rest of his life. Everything was all right. But why didn't everything feel all right? He looked back at Strider, drawn by his anxious eyes.

'How are you feeling,' he avoided the question.

'I'm fine,' Strider answered cautiously. Glynn gave him a look, slipping into their usual bickering over Strider's health.

'I would not define this as fine,' Glynn waved his hands in front of the younger man, trying to remind him of all the wounds he had sustained.

'I'm not dead am I,' Strider too slipped back into their usual bickering, not noticing the slight twitch Glynn gave at his last statement.

'No,' Glynn ignored the odd feeling, 'you're not, but you're not in perfect health either.' Glynn paused as he prepared to check Strider wounds, 'Let me know if anything hurts, I've got to change these bandages.' Strider nodded as he prepared himself for the pain.

'So,' Glynn awkwardly began as he began to unwrap the bandages covering Strider's stomach. 'How does it feel to be a ranger?'

Strider thought for a moment before answering, 'I don't really feel anything; everything,' he fumbled for words, 'seems the same...'

Glynn forced himself to pay attention to what Strider was saying, but found himself thinking more about the hour he had spent pulling slivers of wood chips out of the stomach wound. He didn't really listen to Strider as he moved on to the rest of the wounds either. None seemed to have become infected, which was a good sign and brought him much relief. Yet he cleansed them with a towel that was lying nearby in a bowl of warm water, nevertheless. As he was wrapping the wounds, he found that he was able to pull himself away from the thoughts of the wounds, but they still haunted him and kept him from full concentrating on Strider.

'...I don't know. I thought I would feel different. You know having gone through the third stage and having...'

'You thought you would feel different!' Glynn shouted suddenly, taking Strider off guard.

'Well,' he started nervously, 'I had kind of expected some sort of change.'

'What did you want to feel? Like you were something great, a hero, perhaps? Well, it doesn't work out that way Strider. I told you before you did all of this, it's not as great as it seems. You don't get a big sense of accomplishment when you become a ranger, there's no one to clap you on the back or raise a mug of beer in your name. It doesn't work that way, no one writes your name in the annals of history. You're as much of a nobody as you were when you came here. Don't you see that? Don't you?' The healer stopped as suddenly as he began, but his tirade was not missed by the camp. Feeling rather self-conscious, Glynn dropped his head down, he knew that the entire camp was watching him.

Nor could he bear to look at Strider, rather he mumbled an excuse, 'I'm sorry Strider; I don't know what came over me. I'm...' he sensed some movement in the background; it was Yestin, come to see what was going on. Glynn stood quickly mumbling another apology to Strider before rushing off, leaving Yestin to wonder what happened. Beside him Strider was trying to prop himself up on his elbows, but was finding it near impossible as his shoulder still burned with pain and his chest was still very tight sending him into a coughing fit The coughing drew Yestin's attention from his healer's sudden disappearance to his newest ranger. He knelt beside the man, pushing him down gently for the man was still trying to get up despite his body being racked with coughs.

'Just rest Strider. Take small breaths and try to calm down,' he tried to soothe the man and ease his pain. As Strider worked to settle his coughing, Yestin once again looked in the direction that Glynn left, wondering what had happened and why the healer had just walked away.

'I don't know what happened, sir,' Strider's weak voice penetrated Yestin's thoughts. He turned to look at Strider who now had his breathing under control and was lying, rather reluctantly, flat on the ground. Yestin removed the hand that he realized he still had on Strider's good shoulder. 'He just started shouting. He asked me how I felt about being a ranger.'

'What did you tell him,' Yestin asked curiously, thinking he may have discovered a clue as to what set Glynn off on his tirade.

'That I felt no different, but I thought I would. I mean it's only natural,' Strider tried to rationalize his feelings out loud. 'But he seemed a little off even before that. Like something was bothering him, but it didn't seem to be anything so I let it go. Do you know what's wrong?'

'No,' Yestin spotted a bandage that had not been completely wrapped and moved to finish the binding, 'I don't.' He thought back to the conversation he had with Glynn earlier. 'He's been under a lot of stress; he just needs a little time to himself.' Yestin paused for a second before turning his full attention back to Strider. 'How are you feeling?'

Strider sighed, he hated being asked that question; he felt so frail and useless when people asked him how he felt. 'I'm fine,' he muttered, 'I wish people wouldn't ask me that though, I'm getting sick of it.'

'Are you hungry at all?' Yestin ignored Strider's complaint.

'No,' Strider sighed again, he was used that question too.

'Well, then get some rest, you must be tired. We can talk more later.' Strider could tell that Yestin was rushing to get out of the conversation for he had a far off look in his eyes, like his mind was on something else. He wanted to know what it was, but decided it was best not to ask right now, it seemed that the entire camp was on edge and asking right now could be suicidal, even among such honorable and courageous men; something was gnawing at the men.

'Sure,' he mumbled, feigning sudden drowsiness as Yestin stood. He shifted slightly on the ground as he watched Yestin walk away. Curiosity was getting to him as he wondered what was going on with Glynn and why Yestin was so anxious to get away from him. What had happened while he was unconscious?

Sometime after thinking about what had happened while he was unconscious, he figured that he must have fallen asleep for the next thing he knew Tudor was kneeling next to him, carefully checking his wounds.

'Now I see that you guys just like me for the wounds,' Strider's voice was horse from sleep, but a little stronger than before, 'and not for my radiant personality.'

'Oh,' the young boy looked up, startled by Strider's voice. He didn't catch the joke, 'glad to see you're awake.' The boy was soft spoken, but rugged nonetheless. He was a just about a year younger than Strider and was in a similar position as him. About three years ago Yestin found him wondering across the plains of Rohan, very tired and severely dehydrated. He didn't know where he was going, except that he couldn't go back. For several days that was all he would say, that he couldn't go back.

They tried everything to get him to sleep for they knew that his body needed it for him to recover and regain his health. Finally after three days he succumbed to sleep only to awake five hours later from a horrible nightmare where everything came out. For him it was painless, his dreams told of the horrific tale and why he couldn't return. After that the boy was fine, no one ever asked about his nightmare and he never spoke of it and strangely he never had another nightmare.

Yestin allowed the boy to stay with them despite his age and in a few months time he proved his worth much like Strider did three years later and became a ranger after having endured the Ordeal and taken the Oath. But it was only in the past few months that he had began his apprenticeship with Glynn. He had, however, learned much from the talented healer for Tudor seemed to have a natural ability with herbs and healing.

'You know you're the third person today to check those wounds,' Strider commented.

'Actually Strider, I'm the first one today.'

'Huh?' Strider raised his eyebrows in confusion.

'You slept the rest of the day. It's morning now.'

'Oh,' Strider relaxed a bit. Tudor began to open his mouth, but Strider cut him off, 'I'm fine.' Tudor looked at him, slightly unnerved by having received his answer before asking the question. Strider smiled, holding back a chuckle for he knew it would aggravate his chest and sent him into another coughing fit, 'Everyone asks me that question; I'm used to it.'

'Right,' Tudor nodded, 'you might be fine, but you haven't eaten in several days. You need to try to eat something.'

Strider's stomach flipped in response in Tudor's statement.

'I'm not really hungry,' Strider tried to quell the nausea that was rising. 'Besides I don't think that I could keep anything down.'

'I know,' Tudor nodded again as he reached to his side, 'that's why I brought some broth. It has some nutrients that your body needs to help it heal, but it won't be hard on your stomach. Do you think you can keep some of it down?'

Strider thought for a moment, he really wasn't feeling like eating, but he knew that he needed something to help him get his strength back.

'All right,' he sighed reluctantly, 'I'll try.'

'Good,' Tudor was relieved. 'I'm going to help you to sit up, so you can eat the broth easier.'

Strider nodded as Tudor slipped his hand behind his back and carefully eased him into a sitting position. Strider winced at the pain in his ribs and stomach, but tried hard not to let it control him. Tudor saw Strider's pained expression and stopped moving him.

'I think that's far enough,' Tudor had lifted him three-quarters of the way up. 'Now I'm going to shift you back and to the side a little so that you can lean against this rock and you don't have to wear yourself out trying to support yourself.'

Strider let out a breath of relief as the pain slowly faded to the usual dull ache as he allowed the rock to bear more of his weight. He carefully took to the bowl of broth Tudor offered him and began to eat it. Beside him, Tudor organized the spare bandages and herbs that were left over from when Glynn was working on Strider.

'Has Glynn returned?' Strider asked after a while.

'No,' Tudor was short, keeping his attention focused on rolling up a bandage. Strider saw past his coyness, but couldn't get another question in before Tudor spoke again. 'How is your arm feeling?' he tried to change the subject.

'The shoulder is fine, it aches a little,' Strider answered unconsciously moving the wounded shoulder to test its flexibility and how much it hurt. The pain was still there, but not as great as it had been.

'I mean your sword arm, does it ache.' Strider paused for a second, remembering what had happened three months ago and the realization he'd come to just four days ago. The boy knew of the wound for he'd been there helping Glynn during the entire healing process, in fact Tudor had learned a lot from the three months Strider spent healing.

'It aches as it usually does, but I've become accustomed to it,' he answered nonchalantly. It was something he would just have to deal with and dwelling on it wouldn't change it so it was best to just ignore it.

'What happened while I was unconscious? Why is everyone on edge?' he set the bowl of broth down, turning the conversation away from his wounds to what had happened with Glynn and the rest of the camp.

Tudor looked at the bowl, 'You've got to eat more, that's barely enough to keep your strength.'

'Tell me what's going on and then I'll eat more,' Strider offered the childish bribe. Tudor thought for a moment, trying to decide what was in the best interest of the older man's health.

'All right,' he sighed, agreeing reluctantly to exchange information for Strider to eat. 'You eat and I'll talk. What do you want to know?'

'Why's Glynn acting so weird, what's bothering him?' Strider picked up the bowl of broth and began eating it again as he had promised.

'That I couldn't tell you; after he was finished with you he just left. I saw him walking quickly through camp, I asked him what was wrong, how you were; he wouldn't let me help him, you see, so I didn't know. He didn't let anyone help him. But he wouldn't tell me, he looked rather panicked and glossy-eyed. Where he went I don't know, but we saw some blood in the river and got a little worried. Glynn didn't seem totally with it, he had a hard time dealing with you.'

'Wait,' Strider interrupted. 'What was so difficult about me? Why did he have such a hard time?'

'When you passed out you weren't breathing. You weren't even alive. Glynn had to force life back into you and for a few minutes there it seemed like it wasn't going to happen,' Tudor stopped rolling the bandage as he paused, remembering the anxious moments as they waited for any sign of life from the new ranger. 'We all thought you wouldn't come back.'

Strider leaned back on the rock; he hadn't realized that he had been so into what had happened to him. He looked down at the bowl of broth, suddenly embarrassed by all the attention he had received yesterday.

'Anyway, we saw the blood and Yestin went to find him. We didn't know what he would do, Glynn seemed so volatile, yet so calm like he had decided to do something, but we weren't sure what exactly. Yestin came back twenty minutes later. He seemed more distressed than when he left. I don't know why though. He wouldn't talk; he just checked on you and went to take care of some things. Not much happened after that, I watched over you until you awoke and then I left to find Glynn.' Tudor finished his summary of yesterday and went back to rolling the bandages.

'But that still doesn't explain his reactions; his sudden tirade.'

'I don't know either,' Tudor shrugged his shoulders. 'I can't explain it.'

Strider finished the broth in silence, setting the bowl on the ground. As he sat watching Tudor put the herbs back into their containers, he thought about Glynn, wondering where he was. He wanted to go after him, go seek out his friend and try to comfort him, but he knew that he wouldn't get far for even his irrational side was telling him that his wounds were too great for him to travel let alone stand. Sometime later he yawned and though he tried to hide it, it didn't escape the ever watchful eyes of Tudor.

'I think you're ready for some sleep,' the young apprentice informed Strider.

'No I'm not,' Strider knew he sounded rather childish, but he didn't really care, he wanted to stay alert for when Glynn would return. He felt he had to talk to his friend and try to ease his mind from whatever it was that was troubling him.

'Okay, you're not,' Tudor took back his previous statement, 'but your body is and I think that you need to get some rest.' Strider gave him a look of defiance, but Tudor didn't notice it as he was busy moving a few things out of the way so that he could help Strider to lay back down. Rather reluctantly Strider submitted to Tudor's request that he rest and allowed the younger man to help him to lie down on the blanket he had become so familiar with over the past three months. Tudor waited for Strider to get settled as he stood.

'Don't worry Strider,' he looked down at the man, 'I'm sure he'll return. In time everything will be all right.' Tudor said as he left Strider to fall asleep. Despite his wishes, Strider fell asleep rather quickly, falling into another dreamless sleep. He awoke some time later to someone prodding him and it was rather annoying.

'Stop that, would you,' he mumbled still half asleep.

'I'm sorry Strider I didn't mean to wake you,' Tudor apologized quickly; his voice was quiet.

'What happened?' he woke quickly for he sensed from the young man's voice that all was not well.

'Nothing,' Tudor lied.

'Tell me,' Strider ordered, but Tudor did not speak. Instead, he lowered his head, fidgeting with a loose string from his shirt. Strider grew panicked by Tudor's silence, rising from the ground despite the pain that grew in his chest and shoulder.

'What has happened,' Strider bit back the pain as he got closer to a sitting position. Still Tudor did not answer.

'It is Glynn isn't it,' Strider guessed. He waited for an answer but still received none. 'What happened? What did he do? Tell me!' Strider demanded, holding his chest as he fought back the urge to cough. His eyes began to water from the strain.

'He's gone,' was all Tudor could manage.

* * *

Now that's not so evil now is it? At least I let Strider live, now let's see about Glynn.

Reviewer's Responses:

**Isadora2-** Ouch that kind of hurt rubs head Well I'm glad that you are still enjoying the story, but we'll have to see about Elrond, he's not too happy with Strider right now. But you never know, stranger things have happened. I know, none of my classes overlap, it's kind of funny but that could also be the lack of sleep messing with my thoughts. Well after four years of high school German, I'd like to say that I could speak it well, but I'm afraid my grammar is horrible. So I started aver again just to learn the grammar; I still remember all the words. Soon though I hope to be writing in German with correct grammar. I hope you enjoyed this chapter. Vielen Danke.

**Poppa Jon-** Don't know, but perhaps we'll find out one of these days ;).

**sielge- **Don't worry if I were to kill him now, how could I have fun with him later on. I mean there's a lot more in store for this poor guy.

**grumpy-** But killing is so much fun, please, pretty please can I kill him off just this once? No, I won't kill him, I need him for the ending, there's something great in store for him, something that'll change his life forever.

Oops, I think I may have gotten a little ahead of myself. (looks around nervously) Um, I think I'll go now before the plot bunnies tell me anything more to do to him.


	16. Healer, trust thyself

Well, it's a little later than normal, but hey it's still here. I'm not so sure about this chapter though, nothing major is revealed, it's just kind of a cool-down chapter. But please read, relax, and review. Oh and because I don't own anything, see chapter one for a disclaimer, it's exciting.

* * *

Healer, trust thyself

Strider stopped in a sitting position, despite the pain it caused him, 'Gone?' he questioned. 'What do you mean gone?'

'Just that, he's gone,' Tudor stated, slightly irritated by Strider. He didn't make a move, though, to get the older man to lie down.

'What happened?' Strider pressured the boy.

'About an hour ago he returned to camp. He was calm, like he'd finally settled everything. I tried to talk to him, but he just walked right past. I don't know if he even knew I was there. He went to Yestin. They talked for a bit, I don't know what they said, but Yestin was trying hard to convince him of something. I don't think Glynn liked it though,' Tudor took a pause to collect his thoughts. 'And then he came over here. He asked me how you were doing and I said fine.'

'That's good,' Glynn replied. He stood nervously behind Tudor, watching the steady rise and fall of Strider's chest. The man still struggled to draw breath, but in time it would get better.

'Are you feeling better,' Tudor asked, trying to be polite, but it came out more awkward than anything else.

Glynn didn't seem to notice it though, 'I'm okay.' Tudor looked back at the healer, he couldn't understand why he was so short now, but he didn't really trust the healer's opinion about his own health.

'Um,' Glynn nervously broke the silence that had erupted between them, 'I'm going to be going away for a bit.'

Tudor looked up at his teacher, 'Why? Where are you going?'

'I don't know where, I just have to go,' Glynn turned to pack his things. 'I'm leaving you in charge though.'

'But I'm not ready,' Tudor feebly tried to get the healer to stay.

'Yes you are,' Glynn turned to look at the boy who stood before him; he'd changed a lot in the past few years, he'd grown a lot. 'I've already spoken to Yestin about it, he believes you're ready. You've learned much in the past three months. Trust in that knowledge, but don't forget yourself.' Glynn gave his young apprentice a warning, 'I've got to go now,' he turned to grab his pack. Slinging it over his shoulder, he gave Tudor one last look.

'Don't let it consume you,' his words shook Tudor, who stood watching as Glynn got smaller and smaller until he disappeared all together, becoming just another speck in the world.

Tudor lowered his head after he finished the narrative. Strider didn't pressure the boy anymore for he too was shocked.

'I don't know why he left Strider,' Tudor's tear filled word broke the silence. 'I don't know why, he just left.' Strider looked up at the young man; Glynn had left him in terrible position, expected with just three months of training to take over his position as healer.

'It's okay,' he tried to comfort the young man; he wasn't ready for this, not yet. 'You... you,' Strider was struggling to take a breath. Instantly Tudor was by his side, helping him to lie on the ground once again.

'Slow breaths Strider. I shouldn't have let you sit up, it's too soon,' his words weren't directed at Strider, but rather at himself for being foolish. He'd never make it as a healer. 'Just try to relax; your breathing will even out. It's just the strain on your punctured lung; just relax,' Tudor tried to calm Strider; he wished there was something he could do to ease his breathing. There had to be something, what did Glynn always use? He knew it was some herb; he crushed it and then dumped into a bowl of hot water. The healing vapors climbed up with the steam and spread out, filling the area with its sweet aroma. That would help Strider, if only he knew what it was. He was sure that Glynn had told him, but what was it, he racked his brain.

'Trust in yourself,' he heard a weak voice call to him. The words seemed to calm him, his mind cleared and suddenly he grabbed a nearby bag, pulling out a small packet of herbs.

'Folant,' he called a nearby ranger. The older man came over, obeying the commands of the healer, despite his age. 'Fetch some water,' Tudor handed him a bucket, 'and boil it. Then bring it back to me.' Folant quickly ran off, the bucket Tudor had handed him, in his hands. He didn't need to be told of the urgency of the request, for he had heard it in the young man's voice.

Tudor turned back to Strider, whose breathing had become easier, but still ragged. He could kick himself for his neglect; he'd been so absorbed in his own problems that he'd completely neglected Strider's health. The man was doing considerably well, despite his numerous injuries, but he wasn't healed yet. A rough coughing pulled him out of his thoughts, it was Strider again. He lifted the man up slightly, allowing him to get a little more breath in hopes that it would ease his cough for he feared that the continued coughs would move the ribs Glynn had spent so much time setting. He didn't know how to set ribs.

Slowly Strider's coughing subsided and Tudor laid the tired man back down on the ground. His face was flushed and sweat was beginning to form on his forehead. He picked up a wet cloth and wiped the sweat off; he felt heat radiate through the towel. Quickly tossing the towel aside, he placed his bare hand against Strider's forehead. Somehow he had developed a fever, he wasn't quite sure how, he thought he'd taken care of everything, made sure that none of the wounds had developed an infection. Tudor muttered a curse; he didn't know what to do. He'd never treated anyone on his own, he didn't know how.

'Here's the water you wanted,' Folant stood behind Tudor, a bucket in hand.

'Just set it down and go get Yestin,' Tudor commanded, not taking his eyes off of Strider, for he worried what would happen if he did; something told him that his constant watch was the only thing keeping Strider from fading even further.

'What's wrong,' he asked.

'Go get Yestin,' Tudor turned, his voice becoming more commanding. In truth he was panicked and nervous. Was it the right thing to call Yestin? Would his captain regret his decision to make the young man the new healer if let Strider become ill again and couldn't even figure out how to treat him without going into a panic? Perhaps he wasn't really ready, or perhaps he couldn't be a healer. Maybe his father was right after all.

Folant didn't bother to argue with the healer, running off to fetch their captain. He returned with Yestin in a matter of minutes.

'What is it?' Yestin knelt on the other side of Strider.

'Thanks for the water, you can go,' Tudor told Folant, feeling weird having the man standing over his shoulder. Folant hesitated for a second, but Yestin motioned for him to leave. With him gone, Yestin tried asking again.

'What is it?'

'It's Strider,' Tudor poured some of the hot water into a bowl as he spoke. 'He's...' Tudor fumbled over his words, 'he's grown sick again and I... I don't know what to do,' Tudor looked away from his captain, dumping the contents of the package he'd pulled out earlier into the bowl of hot water. 'I don't think I'm ready for this, I don't know what to do. I don't...' Tudor trailed off.

Yestin thought for a second, the young man was right, but he didn't trust in himself, 'What do you think you're doing now? Making tea?'

Tudor stopped, not completely comprehending Yestin. He wasn't making tea; he was heating some herbs whose vapors would ease Strider's breathing. He was trying to help the man.

'I'm trying to help him. Can't you see that his breath is ragged and uneven? The vapors from this herb will ease his troubles and allow his breaths to come easier,' he explained rather bluntly. Yestin took no offense though, but was in fact rather happy that he was fighting back.

'And what is it that you plan to do next,' he coaxed him.

'Well he has a fever, but I don't know what from,' Tudor thought out loud, 'so I'm going to have to find the cause, though I believe it to be from infection.'

'So...' Yestin once again prompted the young healer.

'So,' Tudor responded, leaving the now steaming bowl and began to check Strider's wounds. 'Will you help me, sir?' the man's voice was full of confidence.

Yestin nodded, 'What's first?'

'Well, I need to check these wounds,' he moved his hands towards Strider's shoulder. 'I'm thinking that we should check this one first as it's most likely to be infected.'

'Oh,' Yestin decided to play dumb while he tested Tudor's knowledge.

'Yes, sir,' Tudor tried to remain calm, but it was not easy. This was basic knowledge, 'This is a bite wound, animal's mouths are the most prone to germs and bacteria. Wounds like these must be treated with extreme care or they will easily become infected.'

'So why wasn't it,' Yestin questioned as they gently unwrapped the bandages that bound Strider's shoulder. Thankfully the man was in a deep sleep and if they were careful he would remain so, never knowing what they were doing until he awoke again.

'It was being watched,' Tudor didn't hesitate. 'I was checking on it, keeping it clean and free of germs. The last time I checked it, it was fine. And healing rather well.'

Yestin looked at Tudor, smiling a bit. The young man was focused on Strider and doing rather well.

'Well, the shoulder seems fine, but I'm going to bathe it with some of this hot water, just to keep it clean,' Tudor spoke; he wasn't really directing it at anyone just thinking out loud. When he finished bathing the wound, Yestin helped him to bind it with a clean cloth before they moved on to the stomach wound doing the same as they had done with the shoulder. They continued this process until, a few hours later, Strider's wounds had been cleaned and bound with fresh bandages.

Yestin leaned back, taking in the work they had done. It was in Strider's stomach where they found the source of the problem: a few small slivers of wood had been left in the wound. They were very small, but proved to be infectious nonetheless. Carefully, Tudor pulled the slivers out, Yestin waited to clean the area with a towel soaked with hot water and a few herbs that would help to fight off the infection. Despite all of it, Strider still slept soundly, a fact for which they were both grateful and his breathing had evened out, thanks to the vapors from the herb. They weren't as pungent as before, but the area still held the faint aroma of the healing herb.

'What now,' Yestin asked.

'Now,' Tudor let out a breath, thinking. 'Now we wait. If his fever rises, we'll have to do more, but I don't think that'll happen, not with those slivers out. In fact, his fever should begin to go down within the next day.'

'When do you think he'll wake?'

'Sometime in the next few hours, I'd say. He's already slept quite a bit so he should be waking soon.'

'Let me know when he does,' Yestin said as he stood, preparing to leave.

'Aye sir,' Tudor nodded and turned to clean up the supplies they had used. Yestin gave Tudor one last look before he left.

Tudor, though, proved to be wrong in his predictions for Strider awoke not more than ten minutes later. The young healer didn't rush to get his captain though; he wanted to make sure first that Strider was doing okay, before he reported to Yestin.

'Welcome back, Strider,' Tudor bedside manner kicked in as he tried to assess the man's condition.

'Huh?' Strider's mind was still thick with sleep.

'You fell asleep.'

'Oh,' Strider's voice was hoarse from his deep sleep as he sounded surprised by Tudor's news.

'How are you feeling? Is your breathing better?'

'Um,' Strider thought. His voice wasn't as raspy and the haziness from sleep was fading, but he still seemed a little out of it, from the fever, no doubt, Tudor thought to himself. 'Yeah it's better,' he finally answered.

'How are you feeling?' Tudor repeated his first question.

'Okay,' Strider lied through his teeth, but Tudor didn't argue, he knew the true meaning of Strider's answer- he felt bad, but he wouldn't admit it.

'Well, I'm going to get a little broth,' Strider started to open his mouth, but Tudor cut off the protest. 'I know you're probably not hungry, but you really need to eat.' Tudor rose, leaving Strider as he went to inform Yestin of Strider's awakening and to get some broth from the men's dinner. He returned a short while later a bowl of steaming broth in his hand.

'I'm going to allow you to sit up again, but right after you need to lie down again and let your ribs heal as well as your lung,' Tudor surprised Strider with the confidence in his voice and actions.

'What happened?' he questioned the healer.

'What?' Tudor moved to get Strider sitting up like before. He was careful in his movements, trying his best not to jostle or jerk Strider. After a few minutes of struggle, he was sitting upright, leaning against the rock, and reluctantly awaiting his broth.

'You seem different. What happened?' Strider accepted the bowl handed to him. It was warm, but he like it for it was getting a little chilly. Tudor saw him shiver and handed him a blanket. Strider took it gratefully, setting down the bowl and wrapping it around his shoulders, covering up his bare chest.

'So what happened?' Strider reiterated his question as he took up his bowl again.

'I don't know,' Tudor seemed preoccupied. 'I guess I just started to trust in myse...' he trailed off as he remembered the words he'd heard earlier. In a state of shock, he looked up at Strider. The older man showed no emotion; rather he just continued to eat the broth.

'I don't know Strider, I just keep thinking about what Glynn told me. "Don't let it consume you," he said. What'd he mean?'

Strider didn't answer right away; it was tough to figure out.

'Is that what happened to him,' Tudor didn't wait for an answer, feeling that Strider already knew, but didn't want to say. 'Did it consume him?'

Strider thought back to one of his last conversations with Glynn, before all of this had happened. It was tough for the healer to be a ranger; the hypocrisy that he dealt with daily ate away at him. He told Strider he felt that he led two lives- one in which he did everything to kill people and another where he did everything to save people. He felt he was losing his touch- killing more people than he was helping. It didn't seem right; it was wearing him thin.

'Strider?' Tudor had been silent for a while, but now he wanted to know what Strider knew. The healing man looked up, but didn't say anything. 'Strider,' Tudor's voice was suspicious, 'what do you know? Tell me,' he commanded.

Still Strider said nothing, he wasn't sure how to phrase it, or if he should even tell. Was it his place? But the young man was wondering what was wrong with his teacher, why he just left?

'Strider,' Tudor's voice sounded like a warning.

'Tudor,' Strider started. Normally he wasn't at a loss for words; he could just ramble on seemingly without a thought. But this was more difficult than he had imagined.

'Tudor,' Strider started again, 'do you understand what it means to be a ranger?'

'Sure, we protect those who can't defend themselves, make sure that the world is free of evil. What does that have to do with Glynn? He had no problem being a ranger, he loved it,' Tudor was naïve in his words.

Strider sighed; it would be hard to convince him. It was ironic that just a few days ago Glynn was trying to convince him of a similar point. He didn't really believe it then and he was just beginning to understand now.

'There's this paradox that Glynn faced. None of the other men face it like Glynn did, or you will,' Tudor looked up in surprise. 'Glynn is a healer; he'd sworn never to kill for that's part of the mindset and oath taken. But Glynn is also a ranger and thus forced to kill people that he may save others. And it killed him every time he swung his sword to kill; every time he killed.'

Tudor sat back in shock. When he became a ranger he didn't really have a choice, he just went through the motions and nobody tried to talk him out of it. He didn't realize the predicament Glynn had been in and how it would have worn on him. Well, he thought arrogantly, he wouldn't let that happen to him; no he wouldn't get himself caught up in that mess.

'So that's what was bothering him,' Strider lied, not bothering to share the rest of the conversation. This would satisfy Tudor, for now at least and help him out a little; make him a stronger person.

'Well,' Tudor noticed that Strider's bowl was empty, 'I think you're done.' That was quite obvious; Tudor chided himself for making the comment. 'I'll take the bowl,' he took the bowl and set it aside and began to help Strider to lie down. The man hissed as his stomach was stretched after having been compacted while he was sitting. Tudor took notice of the sound, 'Are you okay?' He stopped moving Strider.

'Fine, just a little sore.'

Tudor gave him look of disbelief.

'Honest,' Strider sounded hurt, 'I'm fine. I'm just sore from having sat in one position for so long.'

Tudor nodded, accepting Strider's explanation warily. He continued, though, in laying Strider on the ground.

'There,' Tudor pulled his arms back as Strider made himself comfortable on the ground. He grabbed the blanket Strider had used earlier and laid it over the man. He was thinking about how important it was that Strider be kept warm so as to prevent him from catching a cold when he remembered the fever. Strider didn't feel terrible warm when he laid him down, but it was still best to check. He laid his hand on Strider's forehead, feeling for any sign of unusual warmth. There was some, but not as much as before. He smiled to himself, for Strider was getting better. He'd just treated his first patient as an official healer and the patient was doing fairly well, as was everything else.

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Like I said, not much happens. But wait until the next chapter, it'll get exciting then. Unfortunately I need to do homework, so I don't have time to do any reviewer responses, but please enjoy nonetheless.


	17. The end of all things'

I apologize about last weekend, it was midterm break and I went home hence I had no time to write. And I couldn't write when I cam back because my professors all got together and decided to have tests on the same day. So I've spent the past three days studying for three tests and I can only hope that I did well on them. But anyway, here were are gearing up for the end. Yep it's getting close, I think. (When I first wrote this it was only supposed to be three chapters, but as you can see I've long abandoned that) However, please read, relax, and review. Oh and the disclaimer, as always, is in chapter one.

**Warning: Excessive violence at the end.**

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'The end of all things'

A month later, Tudor declared his patient almost healed, much to the dismay of Strider who felt that he was more than healed and had been ready more than a week ago to return to his normal activities. But Tudor had held his own, ignoring the constant stream of complaints from Strider and had even threatened the man with a heavy sleeping draught if he wouldn't be more patient and wait for his body to fully heal.

'Finally,' Strider's voice of full of excitement as Tudor told him the good news.

'Honestly, Strider you're worse than a little kid,' he joked with the older man.

'Have you told Yestin,' Strider ignored the comment, wondering instead when he'd get to do something rather than sit around, waiting for the healing process to be complete.

'No, but you can let him know that you're ready for light activities, nothing strenuous.'

Strider's look of excitement quickly changed to one of shock, 'What do you mean? I thought you told me that I was healed.'

'Almost Strider,' he reminded him. 'I said almost. Your injuries were serious and it will take you some time to fully heal from them.'

'Then why are you letting me go?' Tudor sighed, the man sounded like a child.

'Because I'm tired of your complaints, now go,' he feigned anger. Strider gave him an odd look for it seemed that their conversation had taken a serious twist, but Tudor couldn't keep his face straight for more than a few seconds and Strider finally realized that it was nothing more than a joke.

Feeling better than he had in several days, Strider stood, glancing around the camp to find his captain. He was anxious to report for his first time as a ranger. Before he left, he looked back at Tudor, who was organizing his supplies and putting the few tools he had used back in their places. Though he was a year younger than him, Strider looked upon Tudor as an equal for he grown much in the past month, gaining confidence in his abilities and learning to trust himself, rather than doubt his every thought.

Shaking himself from his thoughts, he turned to find his captain. He found him in his usual place, poring over maps, but this time Romney was there; both bore a serious look on their faces.

'Sir,' he spoke with confidence. Yestin looked up, silently beckoning Strider to continue. 'I'm reporting for duty.' At this Romney, too raised his head for neither had expected Strider to be released from Tudor's care for at least another week.

'Tudor has released you?' Yestin questioned, slightly unnerved by Strider's statement.

'Yes,' the thought of not telling Yestin the full truth crossed his mind, but he was not tempted by it for he knew that he would simply garner worse trouble by not telling. 'But only for light activities.'

Yestin let out a breath he didn't realize that he'd been holding and later wondered why he'd been holding it and if anyone had seen him, but he quickly brushed off all thoughts of that, for he was glad to have Strider back and seemingly healthy.

'That sounds better,' Romney let his thoughts slip past his mouth. Yestin gave him a look and he instantly regretted saying anything, but Strider didn't seem to notice, that or he simply didn't care.

'I'm afraid though,' Yestin began, 'that I have nothing for you to do, unless you wish to prepare the men's meal again.'

Strider almost refused that job for that was his old job, as an errand boy to make the meals, but he was tired of sitting around and was desperate for something to do.

'I don't mind,' he said and went to making the dinner. There were few men in the camp for winter was coming and they were out gathering the last of the fresh nuts and berries for when food would be hard to come by during the winter so Strider had much time to think. It'd been almost a year since he had left, since his exile. He wondered what was going on in Rivendell, was Lord Elrond curious about his whereabouts? Or had the elven lord forgotten about the human boy he had raised for eighteen years.

And what of Arwen, in his anger he had forgotten all about her, but she hadn't come out when he left. Was she angry at him for leaving? Had she forsaken her love for him? He wished to see her once again; her beauty would make his death worth it, to have seen her one last time before he died would satisfy him. And suddenly he thought to ask Yestin for leave and return once more to Rivendell for she would be there by the time he had arrived, there to see her father and brothers. Then he could see her and she him and he could ask her forgiveness.

'Of course my love,' she would say, her voice soft and angelic would be like music upon his ears, the words gently caressing his eardrums as he once again fell under the spell of Arwen Undomiel. Inside her room, they would stay, forgetting the outside world and under the trance of their love they would both forget the danger of their meeting until the door burst open. Elrond's face was full of emotion for he was saddened by his daughter's betrayal and angered by the man's return.

Arwen moved quickly to protect her love, 'Do not harm him father, he knows not what he does.'

'Move Arwen,' his voice was deep with anger. 'Do not lay another hand on him.'

Arwen stood in front of her love, placing her hand on his chest to keep him safe for she knew as long as she was near him, father would not harm him.

'It was not his decision, father,' she pleaded. 'It was I who called him, let him go free.'

Elrond did not hear her though, his anger making him deaf as he approached the bed. 'Do not lie for this human, daughter, he is not worth such effort,' he spoke harshly of her love.

'Father...'

'No Arwen,' she was interrupted by the man she was protecting. 'You need not protect me.' They faced each other, hands locked in front of them, their eyes meeting in a solemn agreement. She sat on the bed, for while she understood she could not accept it. He gave her one last look of endearment, wishing that she would hold onto that forever into the Undying Lands and slowly let go of her hands. They fell lifeless beside her as he turned to face her father.

'Guards!' Elrond called, he was prepared for the fight the man would put up.

'You don't need them, Lord Elrond,' he spoke. 'I won't fight you.'

Elrond's look didn't change, for he didn't believe the man's words.

'Do what you wish with me,' he continued, 'for I know the consequences, but please do not harm you daughter,' he pleaded. 'She has done no wrong here.'

'Take him away,' Elrond commanded the guards when they entered the room. The room was silent as they bound his hands and led him to the door. It was Arwen who broke the silence, for a singe tear encompassed in love and formed of sorrow had fallen from her cheek, splattering on the cold stone floor with a crash that signified more than the sorrow of a distraught daughter, but the end of all things.

Elrond turned in surprise as did the guards. He looked back at his daughter and then to the man bound before him. 'Tell me, who is it that causes my daughter such grief?'

'Strider I am called by mortals, but the heavens seek me as Aragorn Elessar, the Elfstone descended from the house of Elendil.'

A hurried shout, caused Strider to miss Elrond's words. Was he forgiven? Or was the elven lord as stubborn as he? Desperately he tried to pull himself back into his daydream, but more shouts disrupted his thoughts. He shook his head, forcing himself to return to reality for he couldn't understand what was being said.

'...arm yourselves,' was all of the last shout he caught. Men were rushing by him, it seemed that everyone had returned in just the last few minutes and were all in a panic. He grabbed at the tunic of a man who ran by.

'What's going on?' he asked hurriedly.

'We're under attack!' the man reported. Strider was unable to comprehend.

'What do you mean? Who's attacking? How?' the questions tumbled out of his mouth.

'I don't know, they just snuck up on us, someone must have ratted us out. They knew exactly where we were,' the man rushed to tell Strider before rushing to help with the battle.

The fire roared as Strider stood in the middle as the battle raged around him. He still didn't understand. Who would rat them out? And why? He rubbed his fingers against each other, idly fidgeting. There was something sticky on them, something wet that was quickly drying. By the light of the fire, he studied his hand, seeing the red substance on it and then it hit him around him there was a battle and his friends were in trouble. He was not armed for battle though for his weapons were still with Yestin where he'd left them more than a month ago as he prepared to endure his three day test. Thankfully his captain's tent was not far away. If he hurried, he told himself, he would make it.

Not giving it a second thought, he took off running, his flight overlooked by the chaos of the battle. Every second he saw the tent becoming larger and larger until he was upon it and walked under its protection without thought of what was there for from a distance it seemed empty. But what he unprepared for what he saw: Yestin being held at knife point and Romney next to him on the ground, blood streaming out of a hole in his back. Sensing the danger of the situation he stopped.

'That's a good boy,' the voice patronized him; it sounded familiar, but he couldn't quite place it. Underneath the cloak, the voice spoke again and gave a signal to two of his minions, 'Bind him.'

Strider panicked at the words, quickly glancing around the room. He caught sight of his weapons; the firelight flickered, shining brightly about the tent and for a second blinded the tent's occupants. Strider took advantage of the second, throwing himself towards his weapons and in the instant that that took, the cloaked man had drawn his knife across Yestin's throat, leaving a thin line of blood in its wake. And when Strider drew his sword, the man thrust the same blade deep in Yestin's chest. The captain's face shot up in surprise, his eyes wide in shock for he hadn't registered the pain yet. Strider watched as his captain slowly came to realize that blood was seeping past his skin and soaking his shirt. He touched the wound, just to make sure it was real before he dropped to his knees. His breath was heavy, forcing the blade up and down with every rise and fall of his chest.

'Drop the sword, Elfstone,' the man had his own sword out and was holding it dangerously close to Yestin's neck, 'or I shall strike him down.'

Strider stood in a state of shock and panic. How had the man known his true name? Who was this that would come the threaten him? He glanced down at Yestin; the man's face was a mixture of pain and fear, for while he wished the pain to be gone he was not ready for death either.

'What do you want,' Strider asked; it seemed that the tent was in another world for even as they spoke the battle raged on outside, but did not interfere with the events that were rapidly unfolding inside the tent.

'You, my friend,' the voice snarled, 'are not in a position to ask questions. Now drop your sword and I will spare you captain's life for another day.'

Strider glanced at Yestin once more, the decision shouldn't be too difficult; his life for his captain's, yet even as he looked at Yestin and their eyes met, something told him not to. His captain silently pleaded with him not to give up for he knew what was happening, he knew who this was and why he was here.

'Why didn't you tell me?' Strider shouted to his captain, but Yestin was unable to speak as his breaths became ragged and the blood began to drip off his shirt and puddle on the floor.

'I grow weary of your games, boy,' Strider was pressured. 'Lower your sword,' he once again commanded and this time Strider obeyed, though a part of him screamed for him not to. 'That's a good boy,' he spoke down to Strider once again. 'Guards!' he called out and suddenly Strider was struck with a sense of déjà vu.

His hands were roughly pulled behind him and tied with a coarse rope. He watched Yestin carefully, not sure whether to be angered or worried about the man. He wasn't given time to settle on anything though as he was yanked back; the guards were testing the ropes: they were tight enough.

'Take him back to camp,' the man ordered. 'If he gets out of line, put him in his place, but do not kill him,' the man paused. 'I want that pleasure myself,' his voice dripped with malice and evil.

As the guards forcefully pulled him out of the tent, Strider took one last glance at the situation and instantly wished he hadn't for he saw the cloaked man pull back his sword, keeping it trained on Yestin's neck. Instinctively, Strider turned back, lowering his head as his trained ears heard the sharp blade slice through the air followed by a thump. He shut his eyes, silently mourning the loss of his captain. At least he went quickly, he thought; at least it was painless, Strider consoled himself before he was received a hard kick to his knee that sent him to the ground in pain and then was forced back to his feet and shoved along an unknown path on an unknown journey that he now knew would be the end of it all.

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Yeah, he's in trouble again, just couldn't help myself.

Reviewer's Responses:

**Poppa Jon- **Thanks, I'm hoping to write one soon and by the way, the past couple of chapters have been my favorite, so perfect, I think.

**viggomaniac-** oh, you made my day. Thanks for reading 'Those Darn Fanfic Writers' and adding it to your c2, I never expected it to get any response especially so many months after I first posted it. As for the story, it's getting a little complex, hopfully this make a little more sense. And the letter, that just pops up really quick, and kind of returns to haunt him. Some of that was also just expanding on Glynn, explaining where he's coming from so you can see his ater dilemma better. Don't worry, I'll never forget to write, I'm enjoying this way too much.

**grumpy**- no, it really wasn't but things worked out and he's kind of dealing with some big issues.

**lindahoyand**- thanks, I was worried that I over did the suffering or didn't pick up on it as much as I should have. Thanks for reviewing.

Oh, look at the time 2:30 in the morning. Good thing I don't have class tomorrow. But still I need to go, so thanks for reading and reviewing, I appreciate the feedback.


	18. Ceasing to exist

Ok, it's taken me little bit, but this chapter was really and I mean really difficult to write, not to mention my professors suddenly decided to bombard me with work. But I'm going to be making a few changes, one including put this story back down at PG-13. After discussing it with several people I've come to the decision that while the violence at the end of chapter 17 was unexpected, it was in no way graphic. With that in mind I will now place a waring on that chapter as well as this one. Please note that I do not wish to offend or disturb anyone and I hope that everyone enjoys the final chapters of Two Paths.

**Warning: I think I'll rate this as Inventive Torture. Oh and it kind consumes the chapter. So proceed at your own risk.**

Also I do not own anything as I am a college studentm, so please see chapter one for the disclaimer.

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Ceasing to exist

Consciousness found Strider sitting in mud, his feet and arms bound tightly and his neck chained to a tree; no matter what he tried he couldn't free himself. In fact he could hardly move for the metal chain that tied him to the tree was short and dug deeply in his neck each time he tried to move. He was grateful, though, that when he had passed out he had fallen against the tree, not forwards which would had finished what they started.

He let out a sigh of boredom, hissing sharply at the pain it caused in his chest; he was sure they had broken a rib in their beatings. Gently, he massaged the sore spot until it faded; he could still feel it, but it wasn't as bad. Experimentally, he moved his arms and legs; they too ached, cut and bruised from their fists, but he could live with the pain. Truth be told, it was his face his was concerned about for that had seemed to take the brunt of the beating. He shuddered slightly as he remembered seeing the fist coming towards him.

He shut his eyes, hoping to prevent the fist from striking, but it didn't help. He felt the solid knuckles hit his nose, breaking it instantly. Blood began drip down from his nose, forming a puddle on his upper lip for a second before dripping over his open mouth onto his bottom lip. He barely felt the drop as he tried to overcome the pain.

The fist came again, hitting him squarely in his mouth, splitting his bottom lip and spilling his blood once again. Inwardly he winced at the pain from the continued blows to his face and chest, but he refused to show any outward emotion; something inside him told him that it was best not to; that it would make them stop. But his captors had different ideas and apparently didn't mind waiting for their prisoner to show some sign of pain and thus it was only when the heel of a boot collided with Strider's shoulder that they were satisfied.

Strider cried out as the edge of the boot divided his collarbone in two, sending a wave of pain through his sword arm. As he reached to grasp his arm he found he couldn't for he hadn't realized that his hands were still tightly bound. But even if his hands had been free, he would have had no time to try to ease the pain as his captors continued to beat him. Some time after that, he couldn't quite remember when or whether it had been a hit that knocked him out or that the sheer pain had become greater than he could handle and he had simply passed out, but the last thing he saw before being engulfed in blackness was a booted foot coming towards his face. Whether it had impacted or not he didn't know and he feared that he might never.

But that was the least of his concerns right now for his captors were nowhere nearby. If he weren't bound, now would be the perfect time to escape, he mused. Though escape was on his mind, he was more curious about who his captors were and how they knew about the location of the camp. His first instinct was to place blame on one of the men, but he knew none of them would ever do such thing for they were bound by their oaths, never to forsake the bonds of the brotherhood else they forfeit their lives.

'Awake I see,' a familiar voice interrupted his thoughts. 'Did you enjoy your session with my men?' the voice was laced with cynicism. Strider looked up, realizing for the first time that he was able to see through only one eye. With his one good eye, he saw the blurry image of a figure, clothed entirely in gray robes. Despite the problems with his vision, Strider could tell that it was the same person as before.

'What do you want?' he asked, choosing the diplomatic side rather than giving a retort that he knew would only earn him more pain or perhaps another session with this creature's minions.

'You, young Aragorn,' the voice placed a peculiar emphasis on Strider's true identity, 'are not in a position to ask questions.'

'Who are you,' Strider allowed his impatience and arrogance get in his way. His persistence earned him a sharp slap on his cheek. He felt the calloused hand scrap across his cheek which had been made sensitive to the touch from the pain that emanated from a deep cut and a large bruise that was continuing to expand as if it were no bruise at all. Out of the corner of his eye he could see that it was already inching towards his mouth and for a moment allowed himself to be concerned with what would happen when it reached it, but he was drawn back to the cloaked man before him, who despite the sudden movement to slap him, still remained completely cloaked in the gray robes, from head to foot.

'I told you, you are not in a position to ask questions,' Strider was reminded once again. He let out a sigh, wondering if he weren't allowed to ask a question, what was it that he was expected to do.

'You are expected to answer the questions I pose,' Strider was taken aback when his unspoken thoughts were answered and immediately questions filled his mind. Who was this... this, he searched for a word.

'Man,' the cloaked figure provided the answer. 'I am without a doubt a man, but likely not the one you would wish to see.'

Who was this man, Strider continued his thoughts. What evil did he possess that allowed him to read thoughts?

'Good thinking Aragorn, but do not concern yourself with such thoughts. The reasons for this, as you call it, strange ability is beyond your feeble mind; you will never be able to comprehend what I have gone through to come to this point.'

'Why do you want me?' Strider asked aloud, figuring that either way the question would come out, but in his haste he had forgotten what had happened last time and this time the slap was much harder, making his partially numb cheek sting as the pain ripple outwards from the epicenter of the impact.

'Foolish child!' the man chided. 'Do you wish for pain? Do you delight in it?'

Strider gave no answer, for he was still trying to deal with the pain that seemed to magnify as it spread out. In his mind, his thoughts were swirling about, trying to cope with the pain while attempting to explain the reason for the immense pain.

'Funny, how a simple slap can create such pain,' the man gloated as Strider closed his eyes and tried to curl into a ball. 'It's the intensity of the first strike that determines the final magnitude of the pain. And it's the magnitude that determines how far it will spread.'

Strider began to feel the pain less, dissipating much slower than it had come on. He attempted to move his jaw and his neck, but found that the nerves seemed to be on fire, burning with an intensity he had never imagined each time a muscle so much as twitched. This is not good, he thought to himself.

'It lingers, does it not,' the man took joy in Strider's discovery of the aftereffects. 'No, I'm sorry, I can't explain what it is, for that too is beyond your comprehension,' he gave Strider a glare. 'Yes, I'm sorry, but have chosen your allies poorly. Now tell me the name of the river that guards the House of Lord Elrond.'

Strider remained silent, he knew that he could never share that information and surely if this man could read his thoughts he would know that same.

'Yes I am more than aware that you will not tell me; I was merely giving you the opportunity to prove me wrong.'

'If you read my thoughts, then how I could I even prove you wrong?' Strider retorted.

'Very perception, young Aragorn,' the man praised Strider. 'However your arrogance has gained you nothing for I will still find the answer I seek and then you will cease to exist.' Strider expected an evil laugh to follow to the man's sinister words, but nothing followed except silence. As silence surrounded them, the man began to raise his arms, his hands edging ever closer to Strider's head. The ranger watched, wondering what was happening as the man seemed to be preparing to grasp his head, but stopped just a few inches from his ears.

Amidst the darkness that engulfed the man's head, Strider caught a flash of light; the man gave a menacing smile before he closed his eyes, mentally forcing the energy contained within him to flow through his arms to his fingertips. In less than a second, Strider was engulfed in pain, he could feel as the pain started on the outside, flowing rapidly to the inner portion of his brain. His body arced in pain and he pulled against the chain around his neck; its sharp metal biting into his skin and cutting off his airway, threatening to crush his windpipe. He closed his eyes, tightening his face and tried to beg for mercy against the pain, but he found himself unable to speak.

Beneath the cloak, the man's tense body loosened and the energy that coursed through his arms faded. Though the source of the pain had ceased, Strider still felt as though every nerve in his body were being set on fire. After what seemed like hours, but Strider knew to be no more than a few minutes the level of pain decreased to a bearable point and he relaxed against the tree, the chain that bound his neck going slack. He was heaving, trying desperately to get his breath; his lack of breath was only partially a result of the intense pain, but also because of the chain for it had very nearly caused him to black out due to lack of breath.

'S...s...,' Strider found himself stumbling over his words. 'Satis...fied?' he managed to get out, choppy though it was, but his captor was not satisfied for he had been unable to retrieve the information he desired. Once again he raised his hands, getting them into the same position as before. Strider wished that he had been given more time, but before he was able to finish the thought the pain returned, this time with a greater intensity and it lasted for several minutes longer. Strider once again arched his body against the pain, pulling against the tree and forcing the band around his neck to dig into his skin once again. Blood began to seep out of the thin cuts made by the band, staining the metal as Strider's choking reached a new intensity.

At the height of the pain, Strider felt his brain being picked apart and then as suddenly as the pain began, it stopped; he felt nothing, not even the tree as he slumped against it. His whole body seemed limp as he forced his unwilling eyes to look upon the man before him.

'I thank you for your cooperation,' beneath the cloak came the sinister voice, 'my friend.' As the man turned, his words reverberated in Strider's semi-conscious mind and he suddenly realized who had captured him.

As the haze began to engulf his mind and block out surrounding noises, he heard a faint shout and the clash of swords. He tried to force his head up, but it wouldn't cooperate, not though because he was tired; there was something more, something had happened to him; something had made him cease to exist.

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Boy, I think I would have gladly traded places with Strider on this chapter, then he would have had the challenge of writing it.

Reviewer's Responses:

**Poppa Jon**- No, danger is the name of the game and yes it will haunt him, but in more ways than you can imagine. He's about to become a very disturbed and troubled young man.

**Viggomaniac-**thanks for your input, I appreciated it. And wow, I didn't even read that much into it, and honestly I didn't expect very many people to, but thanks I've got a lot to work with I guess. Yeah, my writing in the beginning was realy horrible, I'm going to go back and edit the whole story once it's done. Thanks, when I started this story I didn't expect it to be very much and I certainly didn't expect it to get sixty reviews, but thanks for adding it; it made my day.

**Strider's Girl**- hour and a half! Wow that's a long time, I didn't think it'd take that long, but then it is close to seventy pages so I guess I can see. I was hoping for it to be different and yes I like to tease my readers with the chapter titles- they're the most exciting part, after writing the story that it.

**lindahoyland**-calm? I don't know the definition of that word, but you'll have to wait a little longer to find the indentity of his captor. Stick around though, it'll be coming out soon enough.

**grumpy-**questions and more questions, none of which I'm afraid I can answer and I feel the same way about Yestin, he really was a good man.

**Silabrithil**-thanks for reading and paying close enough attention to catch my mistakes. I'm fully aware that there are grammatical mistakes, spell checker has told me that on numeorus occasions, however as a writer I allow myself to mess with grammar a bit. For the sake of the story and its continuity I take a literary liscense which permits me to forsake some of the rules of English grammar. Also when the story is complete, I had fully intended to go back and do a major edit, very simliar to what I do with each chapter. I do edit every chapter, but no one is perfect and there's no way I can catch every single grammar mistake. Also, I have read the books and I'm aware of what Strider actually did, but I did state at the beginning of all this that this was AU meaning alternate universe. The story is acutally based on a single line in FOTR, the movie, where Elrond says, in reference to Aragorn, 'He has chosen exile.' I don't mean this explanation to seem harsh or like I'm upset. I appreciate you taking the time to read my story and give me a review and I hope you continue to read and give me feedback.

**Amy Earls-** I'm glad you let me know about the last chapter, I wasn't aware that it seemed violent and as I've stated before, I never like to make any of my readers feel uncomfortable or disturbed. However in place of a rating change I will be sure to add a warning to each chapter with excessive violence.

Well, thanks everyone for reading and reviewing. I hope you have enjoyed this chapter.


	19. The crownless shall again be king'

I'm back!!! After some how managing to survive my first semester of college and make it through finals, I'm back and ready to finish off this story. So here's the chapter you've all been waiting for, I hope. Oh and check back often, I hope to have a couple of updates throughout the week.

Warning: brief violence in the first paragraph. Um, if you're not fond of the stuff, just skip it. (It's really short and quick.)

Disclaimer (Because as a college student I own nothing): see chapter one, whatever it was called.

Please read, relax, and review. Happy Holidays!!

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'The crownless shall again be king'

A cool wind stung his chaffed wrists as he swung the sword in one fluid downward motion, but his opponent dodged the blow, twisting his body to the right to avoid the dangerous blade. He took another swing at his opponent, wincing slightly as the motion once again stung his wrists, recently freed from the rough rope that had bound them in front of him. This time the sword made contact, deftly slicing through the man's shoulder bone; the useless limb fell to the ground with a barely audible thump, life quickly fleeing from it. His opponent was in shock, and he used it to his advantage, piercing his sword through the man's chest. The man's eyes grew wide in shock and he started to cry out, when he heard a voice behind him.

'Estel,' the voice called to him, 'what are you doing?'

Estel froze as his opponent vanished as his did forest he stood in. He looked down, his wrists were free of the red marks that had stained them earlier and his clothes were clean; the satiny fabric caressed his skin as he stood.

'How many times have you been told not to come here?' the voice stood before him. A hand reached out to take the sword he held in his grasps. 'And especially not to touch the sword, it is very dangerous. You could very easily be cut.'

Estel looked up at the voice, as he placed the sword back on its pedestal. It paused for a second before turning to face him again.

'Master Haldir?' Estel questioned.

'Yes Estel?'

'What are you doing here?'

'Saving you from your father's wrath,' Haldir chuckled as he placed a hand on Estel's back, gently leading him out of the room and into the gardens that shrouded the opening.

'But ada won't be back for a few days yet,' Estel told the elf. 'He's still in Lothórien.'

'Yes, he is,' Haldir led the boy into the house and up the stairs into his study room, 'and when he returns he will be very unhappy to find that you have not kept up with your studies. Now, I want you to sit here and finish your history. By then it will be midday and you can come down for the midday meal.' Haldir left the boy sitting at the desk, staring at the book in front of him.

'Master Haldir?' the elf turned to face the boy.

'Yes Estel?'

'Why does ada keep a broken sword?'

Haldir paused for a second; there were things, certain events that were not to be told to Estel. Some things about history that were not to be revealed to him and Lord Elrond had warned him several times what would happen if those things were revealed. But he had warned the Elven Lord that a time like this would come. When curiosity would get the better of Estel and some things would have to be revealed to him.

'Master Haldir?' Estel tried to get his teacher's attention.

'The sword is a family heirloom,' Haldir broke his silence.

'Did it belong to ada?'

'No, he is taking care of it for a while, just until the family comes to claim it again.'

'Oh,' Estel's lips formed a circle, as he nodded in understanding. 'Who did the sword belong to?'

Haldir gave another pause; what should he reveal to the boy. He would find out everything sooner or later, whether it be in a book or by mouth. But too much could be revealed, he debated within himself.

'Master Haldir,' Estel called for his attention again. Haldir looked at the boy's eyes; he was concerned for his teacher, wondering what was wrong that he hesitated to tell him.

'It belonged to,' Haldir made the decision to tell Estel the history, nothing more. After all, there was nothing that connected Estel to the owner of the sword; Estel was not the heir so desperately sought after by the evils of this world, 'Elendil, last Lord of Andúnië.'

'How was it broken?' Estel interrupted.

'Elendil fought in the last great battle of this world in which Sauron was defeated. And it was there that he fell at the hands of Sauron. Narsil, his sword was called, dropped to the ground. Isildur, Elendil's son, picked up the sword, but Sauron stepped on the blade, breaking it into six pieces, but Isildur picked up the hilt and used the jagged edges to defeat Sauron.'

'But why keep a broken sword?' Estel questioned; he did not recognize the importance of such names.

Haldir hesitated again, familiar lore coming to mind, foretelling the future of Middle-Earth and the fate of one generation destined to carry a burden greater than any other had or would ever. 'There is a prophecy,' he started, still unsure of what he was doing.

All that is gold does not glitter,  
Not all those who wander are lost;  
The old that is strong does not wither,  
Deep roots are not reached by the frost.  
From the ashes a fire shall be woken,  
A light from the shadows shall spring;  
Renewed shall be blade that was broken,  
The crownless again shall be king.

A soft, airy voice replaced Haldir's earthly tone, finishing the prophecy. Strider looked around; his study room in Rivendell was gone, replaced by trees that stretched beyond the sky. He looked down, his wrists once again were marred by angry red marks and his clothes were tattered from the day's beating, or was that today? Where was he?

'The crownless again shall be king,' the voice repeated. 'Aragorn Elfstone, that is your destiny, you cannot escape it.'

'Where am I? What happened?' he turned to look at the source of the voice; it was the woman from the Old Forest, who'd come to him to tell him that he would be king no matter what he did.

'You are safe as is your body. You need not worry,' she told him.

'What happened,' he reiterated his second question, the one she had not answered.

'You need not worry,' she repeated. 'Everything has been taken care of, all is safe.'

'Where was I?'

'I sense the weariness in your soul; your body has endured much,' she ignored him. 'But you must not give up Aragorn; you must continue on and fulfill your destiny.'

She was right, he was tired, his soul was tired and he desperately wished for it all to end. He could feel someone calling for him, asking him to comeback he could feel them pulling on the frail tethers that bound him to his earthen body and if they tried too hard, those ties would snap and he would be lost forever and that was what he wanted; what he was hoping for. Just to let him go and forsake everything. He didn't care any more about what happened; it was not worth it.

'Aragorn,' the soft voice penetrated his selfish thoughts, but he chose to ignore her; she would only remind him of what he was giving up. 'I know you seek to ignore me, but you cannot.' He willed his mind not to answer, not to give into the temptation to throw back some retort. Instead, he stood where he was, keeping his eyes closed as he tried to forget.

'Aragorn,' she lifted his chin up until their eyes met. 'You cannot escape your destiny, you know this as well as I do,' she reminded him. He'd heard that before, every path he took would lead to the throne of Gondor and the golden crown that marked its king.

'I can't do it anymore,' his announcement broke the silence. She opened her mouth to speak, 'No,' he stopped her. 'I'm not denying what I have to do, what I've been destined to do. But I've been given another path; I've seen another way.'

'You already know, all paths lead to Gondor. There is no escaping your destiny,' her voice was calm, almost daring him to defy her, to prove to her that there was a way out.

'I choose death,' it was more than a statement, it was a declaration to the world; Aragorn Elessar was tired and wished for nothing more than death. He would not be king; the people of Middle-Earth were doomed.

'Death is not for you, not yet. You must wait; hold onto your heart for you are bound to this earth until you fulfill your destiny.'

'Why.'

'What?' she seemed surprised, an uncharacteristic tone of shock filtering through her voice.

'Why must I fulfill my destiny?'

'It has been laid out, from before you were born, before your parents were conceived. It was decided at the beginning of time, as was all that has happened.'

'Everything? This was already decided? Why?'

'It is the way it was to be,' her answer was simplistic. 'But that is not your concern Aragorn. Your concern is the role you are to play in this and you have a great destiny to fulfill for your role is one of the greatest set out, there are but two others who have a greater destiny and in time they will have to come to accept their own paths. But you Aragon, you must go on for two cannot do what requires three.'

'I do not care anymore,' Aragorn forbade his mind to waver. 'Allow me to pass from this life into the next.'

'This I cannot do,' she told him. He let out a sigh lowering his head to gather his wits before he began to fight for his right to choose, but when he looked up again, she was gone. He turned around, looking for any sign of her, but she was gone.

'What am I to do then?' he shouted, hoping that she was there, but that he could not see her. When he received no reply he tried again, 'What am I to do?'

'Return to your earthen body,' a voice spoke; it had the same softness to it as the lady's had, but it sounded more earthly than hers. Aragorn turned to find the source of the voice. Behind him stood a tall man, wearing full armor as if he were prepared for battle. He looked not more than thirty years old, but the strands of gray that littered his otherwise brown hair spoke of his true age.

'Return and follow the path laid before you, the path that your forefathers unknowingly followed.'

'Tell me, why am I bound to this?'

'All are bound to the decisions of the Valar. Not even the elves can escape it.'

'Then I am but a pawn,' Aragorn questioned.

'One of three who will control the fate of this earth and if one fails then all fail.'

'Why,' his tone was sharp and accusing.

'Do you really wish to die, Aragorn?' the man ignored his question.

'Can you give it to me?' Aragorn countered; he was tired of his questions not being answered, but he was willing to sacrifice answers for his chance to choose.

'No,' Aragorn's shoulders slumped at the answer, 'death is not in my power to grant for I am but a guide.'

'A guide?' Aragorn wondered aloud. 'A guide for what?'

'For whom,' came the cryptic answer. 'Come,' he beckoned, 'take a look.'

'Why,' Aragorn countered again, unsure of what the man wanted to show him.

'Before you forsake all that has been granted to you, you must understand the true nature of things; you must see the world as it is.'

Still Aragorn refused to move, but that mattered not for with a simple movement of his hand, they were both enveloped in a sphere of white light. Aragorn shut his eyes as the intensity of the light pierced his eyes and sent waves of stabbing pain to his mind. Through his eyelids, he saw the bright light fade and darkness once again returned to him. When he opened his eyes, though, he was surrounded by a great forest and was standing upon a single slab of rock.

'What is this place?' Aragorn asked. 'Where have you brought me?'

'It was much grander when it was first built, but the years of carelessness and hopelessness have not been kind to it. The people do not expect to see their king again, they are a desperate people. Go to them Aragorn,' the man finished, but Aragorn did not understand. Rather he looked at the man in confusion.

'This is Amon Hen as it is known today. Long ago, they called it the Hill of Sight, though as I remember it, it was the Hill of the Eye. Go to your people Aragorn,' the man explained.

Cautiously, Aragorn walked to the southern edge of the rock and looked out into the forest, straining his eyes to see his people, as the man said, but he saw nothing.

'Close your eyes and empty your mind of the doubt that hangs on it,' he instructed Aragorn. Silently, Aragorn did as he was bid. 'Now reach within you and grasp the power of the Númenor. Use it to see what is beyond sight.'

Aragorn let out a breath as he again did as he was instructed. Through his blinded eyes he began to see a white city. He saw peasants struggling to survive under the careless rule of the caretaker of the city. In their eyes he saw despair and heartache; they were suffering under the rule of the Stewards. Every night they prayed for deliverance from their plight and every morning they awoke to a hopeless future.

Unable to witness anymore, Aragorn tore his eyes away from the people, opening his eyes to see the same trees as before.

'Why do you wish for me to see this?' Aragorn demanded, but the man simply waved his hand again and they were transported to a similar slab of rock.

'This is Amon Lhaw, Sight of Hearing. Look to the east to listen to your people. Feel their plight, Aragorn.'

'No,' Aragorn stated.

'You are their king; will you not listen to the cries of your people?' the man asked. 'Will the king forsake his people?'

'I am not their king,' Aragorn told the man.

'You will be; listen to their voices.'

Despite his wishes, Aragorn found himself walking to the eastern edge of the rock and once again staring out into the forest. From the last time, he remembered to close his eyes and clear his mind. In a matter of seconds his ears were bombarded with thousands of voices all mingled together in a cacophony that made his head swarm. Out of the thousands of voices, though, he discerned a single one; that of a mother getting her children ready for bed.

'And when you wake up, I'm sure your brother will be home,' she tried to hide the worry in her voice, but it was near impossible. Aragorn didn't think her children believed it either; they'd gone through this before. First had been their father and then their eldest brother; both killed by orcs that attacked the kingdom. She didn't believe herself either, but it gave her hope; hope that one day all of this would be over and her children could live in a peaceful world.

Next was a young boy, no more than five. He was sitting at the grave of his parents. At his side sat his dog, the only one left to him in this world. His village had been burned by evil men. Mother told him to run; take Dillon and run to the nearest village. And he did, until he smelled the smoke. When he stopped and turned to look at his village it was in flames. He ran back, he had to save mother, father had told him to look after her while he was away. But it was too late, the evil men were gone and so was his village. When the flames died, he found his mother's body and buried it himself, father would be proud. They were together at last.

Aragorn turned away, covering his ears with his hands to block out the voices; their grief was too much; all depending on him to end their suffering, to bring peace back into their lives. It was too much, a greater burden than one man could bear or should bear.

'Why do you torture me with their troubles,' Aragorn turned to look at the man. He stood silently behind him, in the same spot as before. 'There is naught I can do for them.'

'Perhaps not,' he stated. 'But their troubles are not unique. Aragorn evil is growing; even the blind can sense it. There will come a time when the people of this earth will be ready to unite under one banner for one king and you must be there when they are ready, to accept your destiny and begin the line of kings anew.'

'Lasto beth nîn, tolo dan na ngalad.'

Aragorn recognized the voice, but refused to believe it.

'What's happening? Where am I?' he tried to force answers out of the cryptic man before him.

'You have a choice to make Aragorn Elessar, the Elfstone. You are the son of Arathorn, fifteenth Chieftain of the Dúnedain of the North and the sole living heir the throne of Gondor and Arnor. As thus you have but two options lay before you, the crown or death. I implore you not to make light of your decision, for more than just your life hangs in the balance; an entire people are dependent upon your decision and while that may seem like a terrible burden to place upon one man's soul, the Valar are not cruel. You, Elfstone, are stronger than you know, in time you will come to understand. Look deep within yourself; call upon your heart to make your decision,' and with that the man disappeared.

'Wait,' Aragorn called out in desperation. 'Who are you?' he asked, but he knew the man was gone and he was left to choose between life or death. The latter seemed the most obvious choice, that was what he had wanted all along, but why was it so attainable now. Why was he now, allowed to give up? What had changed?

But he couldn't get the voices and images out of his head, there were people who needed his help and he'd never backed down before. Their problems were over though, done and he couldn't do anymore than the next person.

They were still calling for him, asking for him to come back. He knew who they were, but why? What had happened; why did Yestin not come for him? His stomach twisted as he remembered Yestin was dead, killed as he was dragged off by some cloaked man. Where was the man? What were the clashes and shouts he had heard before loosing consciousness? His head swarmed with questions, yet the one fact remained he was a dead man for he had done what he couldn't.

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Well, what did you think?

Reviewer's Responses:

**lindahoyland-** thanks, honestly I'm just as curious as you are as to who these attackers are (no I don't know either ;)

**sielge-** well, I apologize for the wait, but this was a really hard chapter to write and with school and all, there was just no time. But now I have the time, so you won't have to wait much longer, I think.

**Poppa Jon-** thanks, I take extreme pleasure in torturing characters.

**Strider's Girl**- wow, I think you'd match up pretty good with that villain, save Strider and wisk him off to safety while nursing him back to health.

**grumpy-** well, his hands are defintately off now.

**Nefhiriel-** and if you think chapter 18 was difficult, just try this one. But here it is, after a month and a half of thinking and not being able to work.

**viggomaniac**- I'll take any review, it means that people are actually reading.I can't believe it's gone this far, it was just a three page story! By the way, I like the title, that's probably what they're thinking while they're being beaten and tortured.

**horsiegurl- **you can figure it out if you want, take a guess, be my guest.

Well, thanks to all those who reviewed and those who read the story.


	20. Not coming back'

Well, here's what you've all been waiting for; yeah this one is really it. So here it goes.

Disclaimer: I don't own a thing. See chapter one.

**Warning: A few violent parts, um and if you don't like seeing characters act differently you might not want to read this.**

And so with that, please read, relax, and review.

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'Not coming back'

Warmth was the first thing that hit Strider as he tried to pry his way to consciousness. He wasn't sure why he had chosen life, but something inside of him told him that he needed to take that path, even if it were only to be killed in the end. He heard worried voices around him; someone was leaning over him beckoning him to waken. Perhaps, he thought, everything was okay. Perhaps he would be welcomed. Worry and hesitation fleeing his mind, he opened his eyes and recognized the face of Lord Elrond. He was in Rivendell and for this he knew he would be sentenced to death, yet he squirmed, alarmed by the peacefulness and ease of the situation. He expected it to be different; he thought Elrond would show his full fury and be ready to smite him down the moment he woke.

'Sir,' Elrond spoke softly, 'you must calm down. This excitement is not good for your injuries, you have not yet healed.' He spoke gently to the man he had spent the last week caring for. Strider quickly calmed, soothed by the gentleness in the elf's voice and then it occurred to him. Elrond had called him sir. What this some sort of formality? Had Elrond forgotten about him entirely? Or was he just acting? And should he reveal who he was or should he take advantage of Elrond's ignorance?

'Do you not know who I am,' he finally spoke, his voice harsh from illness; though he wished for nothing more than to live, something within him told him to tell the truth for perhaps all would be well. Elrond was not an unfair elf.

Elrond was taken aback by the man's words. He looked behind him, to his sons who stood ready to lend their help, mentally questioning them, but they didn't understand either. He turned his attention back to the man on the bed, studying his face, but he could not recognize the man.

'No,' he answered cautiously, 'should I?'

Strider paused as he was once again stricken with the thought of not revealing his true identity, but finally he started. 'I was once called Estel, but now I am Strider,' Elrond gave the man on the bed a questioning look, but Strider continued. 'One year ago I choose to be exiled from the elven realms under pain of death and since then have spent my time in the wilds. I do not know how I came to be here, but I assure you that I have not returned willingly. Yet, I will accept my sentence of death.'

The three elves looked at him in awe, each trying to find a hint of the man he used to be; of the boy that used to run through the halls twenty minutes before his bedtime. But the man before them was not Estel for his face told of the hardships he had endured. In his eyes, Elrond saw the horrors he had witnessed, wondering what he had seen that had wiped him of his boyish looks. This was not the same man who had asked to be exiled a year ago, the man before him was Strider.

'Strider,' Elrond tested the man's new name, but found it odd; it clashed with his elven tongue. 'It is uncommon for an elf to exile one of their own, but it is even more uncommon for that exile to be lifted. However, you are not the same man, I sense that you have learned a great deal during the past year and perhaps you are finally prepared to accept your destiny. Therefore I have decided that your banishment be lifted and you shall be restored to the name of your birth, Aragorn.'

Elrond had turned the tables, for now it was Strider's turn to look at him in shock, he had been freed. But with what price, he thought, for he was now expected to become king and save his people, the burden of which weighed heavily on him and he was still not sure he wanted to.

'I do know if I have what is in me to accept my destiny, Lord Elrond, but I shall try. It is true that I have learned much; during my time in the wild I have witnessed the plight of man and I do not wish for my kin to fall into darkness.'

It seemed, Elrond thought as he looked down at Strider, that the man had taught himself what Elrond had not been able to, but he was not envious or upset for he was proud that Strider was now ready to take on the challenge that lay ahead. Strider tried to stifle a yawn, not wanting to let this moment past, rather relish in it for a while longer, but the suppressed yawn turned into a cough bringing Elrond back to reality.

'Elladan,' he called to the son nearest to him, 'fetch me a bowl of hot water. Elrohir, go to my study. On my desk there is a small bag of herbs, it will help to ease Strider's cough.'

Strider tried to hold onto reality and keep track of what was going on around him, but his lungs felt as though they were on fire as the coughing refused to subside. He felt himself slipping away; darkness was encroaching, creeping inwards from the edges of his sight and in a matter of seconds, it had taken over, delivering Strider to oblivion once more.

'Aragorn,' a voice called to him some time later, he refused to answer it though. He was afraid that Elrond's forgiveness was merely a ploy or that he had dreamed it all. He was afraid of where he would be, of who would be there. 'Aragorn, you cannot fool me, I know that you have awakened.' But he recognized the voice and it was for that very reason he feared answering it.

'Estel, my love,' his heart leaped, 'do not shy away from us. Come open your eyes and set them on your wife.'

Fear abandoned him and he opened his eyes. In mere seconds, the previous moment's joy fled for before him stood Lord Elrond and no one else. The elven lord stared back down at him, a look of disgust on his face.

'You dare return here, human,' he emphasized the man's race. 'You dare defy my decree?'

'Ada!' his voice was weak from his illness; he was confused. What had happened? Hadn't Elrond lifted his banishment? Wasn't he free?

'That privilege is not granted to you, human,' he told Strider. 'Did you not think my warning serious? I shall have you hanged for this. Guards!' he called out before continuing his interrogation of Strider.

'Why do you dare return? Did you think you could fool us with your strange looks; that you could fool an elf?'

The guards Elrond had sent for quickly came, entering the room in silence as they awaited further instructions from the elven lord.

'Bind his hands and take him to the courtyard. He is to be hanged for his crimes.' Strider was roughly pulled to his feet, his legs, weak from lying in bed and illness, wouldn't support him though as he tipped dangerously close to the ground. But the guards wouldn't allow their charge to slip out of their grasps so easily; they had a firm hold on his arms, preventing anything from happening to the trespasser. His hands were roughly pulled behind him and tightly bound with a coarse rope. As he was dragged out of the room, he caught a glimpse of Elrond; though the Lord of Imladris tried to show no emotion, his eyes betrayed him. Strider hoped to see a sign of remorse or guilt in the eyes, but saw nothing other than satisfaction at having finally accomplished a great task. It was a fleeting image though, for when he was pulled from the room, before him stood Elladan and Elrohir, twin sons of Elrond.

'Elladan, Elrohir,' his voice was stronger now, but still weak; he sounded pathetic and he knew it, but perhaps he could gain sympathy from them and convince Elrond not to kill him. 'Brothers, please help me,' he begged them as they stared at him stoically. The guards moved to drag Strider along, out to the courtyards as they had been commanded, but Elrohir stopped them.

'Wait,' he told them before taking a step closer to Strider. 'My dear brother,' his voice dripped with sarcasm, 'it is we who brought you here; we who found you tied to a tree like a discarded pet.' Elrohir raised his hand, bringing it level with Strider's forehead. He closed his eyes, muttering something under his breath; a flash of light blinded Strider, sending a wave of pain though his already pounding head. He tried to lean down, an unconscious way of relieving the pain, but the guards wouldn't allow it, so instead he shut his eyes closed, his face tightening at the pain increased and then it stopped. The pounding in his head remained, but the bright light was gone, replaced instead by voices. He opened his eyes, finding himself in a forest. On the ground in front of him, knelt the sons of Elrond, hovering worriedly over a prone body.

'I do not think he is coming back brother,' Elrohir told his brother.

'Do not be silly, of course he will return. You are not trying hard enough,' Elladan chided his brother. He tried, using the same words his brother had to call the man back. After several minutes, he admitted his failure. Leaning back on his haunches, he spoke to his brother, 'You are right little brother; help me to bind his wounds to make the journey home easier.'

'No, brother,' Elrohir cautioned, 'we cannot take this man back. Ada will be most upset.'

'Do not be silly,' Elladan laughed at his younger brother's fear. 'Tis only Estel that he has banished. The men of this word are yet welcome in the House of Elrond.' Elrohir nodded in agreement missing a glint in his brother's eyes as he glanced back down at the man lying before them; yes Ada would be most upset to see Estel once more.

Strider heard himself let out a small moan when they shifted him on the ground, feeling the dampness of the ground seep through the clothing on his back and knew it was cold, yet he could not feel it. For a second he remembered that this was not real, that he shouldn't be feeling anything in this dream, but a blinding pain washed away that thought. He tried to cry out, to let the agony out of his body as quickly as possible, but his mouth would respond.

It was Elrohir who lifted him up to Elladan, who sat ready on his horse.

'Take him as quickly as you can brother,' Strider felt a firm hand around his waist as Elladan place his hand around the man's waist, securing him on the horse as Elrohir backed away. Once again he tried to cry out as pain shot through his body, blinding his eyes and fogging his mind. A voice behind him whispered to the horse, asking the mare to take them home with haste. Each bump, every little jostle sent a new wave of pain through his body, adding onto the constant pain he felt from the hand that kept him tethered to the horse. Slowly the pain was overcoming him, sapping what little strength he had left in him until he felt himself sag against his rescuer.

When he opened his eyes again, he was back in Rivendell, in the same position as before, as if nothing had happened, but Elrohir's look of indifference was gone, replaced by a look so evil that Strider found it hard to recognize the young elf.

'I was going to leave you there,' his sneered, 'not because I did not know who you were, because I was thought it better than to upset ada with a mortal.'

'But I knew it was you,' Elladan interrupted, taking a step forward. Together the two brothers had boxed Strider in; he could feel their anger emanating from their bodies and it unnerved him. What had happened to his brothers? Had they been brainwashed by Elrond, or was this how they had always felt about him.

'I knew it was you, Aragorn,' Elladan spat out the name as though it were poison as he reiterated his words. His voice was lined with anger and bitterness. 'And I knew that Ada would be more than pleased to see you again; he has been seeking you out, but you have eluded us.'

Strider was confused, 'What is going on?' he questioned. 'Why do you speak with such a harsh tone if you have sought me out?'

'Foolish man,' Elrond laughed from behind him, 'you would not understand; I knew you would not. Your mind is far too simple for such cunning thoughts; for complex thinking.'

'I was ignorant,' Elrohir continued, 'but Elladan taught me the truth. You are a menace, Aragorn.' Elrohir motioned to the guards to take Strider away. He wobbled slightly as a kick to his calf drew him out of his daze and moved along with the guards, his mind racing trying desperately to sort out what had happened; to make sense of the harsh words his former family had used against him.

'Brothers,' he called out in desperation one more time, hoping to drag them out of what ever trance they were in. At the same time, he planted his feet, forcing the guards to stop, but they grew tired of his uncooperativeness, viciously kicking him. With a cry of pain, Strider fell to the ground. As he tried, with his bound hands, to get back to his feet, he saw Elrohir come to him.

'You dare call me brother again and I will strike you down where you stand,' Elrohir warned. 'You are a mere mortal, not even capable of being worthy enough to be called brother by an elf,' his voice was thick with hatred and contempt for the man before him. He turned to walk away, but turned back as a new thought came across his mind and he leaned down as if to help Strider up. Strider noticed a change in his face, allowing his cautiousness to fade; perhaps he had gotten through to Elrohir. He gave the elf a small smile, opening his mouth to speak when Elrohir spat in his face and delivered a kick to his stomach. Strider curled up as he tried to make the pain disappear.

'Take him away,' Elrohir rose again and turned his back on Strider. The guard pulled Strider up roughly, not caring that the man was still in pain as they dragged him to the courtyards. It seemed as though the entire house was out there, waiting for the trespasser's execution. Strider knew them all, for he had grown up in this house, among these people, but he gave them no glance as the guards led him up the wooden stairs onto a platform and forced him over to the side. Strider looked up, above him was a rope attached to a pole; below him a trap door, he could see the edges where the door would fall away; leaving him dangling in the air as life slowly left him. So it was real, he thought, this was really happening to him. He was going to die.

'Wait,' he cried out, a thought coming to him. 'What about Gondor; what about man, I am the only one who can save them; who can bring hope to them and rescue them from their plight.'

'You should have considered that before you left, my love,' Strider turned his head; Arwen was there and she was holding something.

'Arwen,' he spoke softly.

'Yes, it is I,' she now stood before him.

'Help me,' he pleaded with her for surely he thought, she was still loyal to him. Nothing could ever break their love, she had once told him, it would hold until the ending of time.

'I cannot,' she sounded disappointed, 'Ada has made his decision. But he has given me permission to give you one thing before your death.' Her hands rose as she lifted the object in her hands above Strider's head. He lowered his head, expected her to embrace him in a final goodbye, but instead he felt a coarse circle fall over his head, landing on his shoulders with a light thump. He looked up at her in shock; her disappointment had faded, replaced now by malevolence.

'My love,' his voice was weak with shock.

'Do not call me such,' she slapped him, 'our love was a mistake for how can a mere mortal capture the love of an elf?' she questioned, giving him some time to answer, but he could not. 'He cannot; your love would have killed me and for that I am glad to see you and your race meet your rightful demise.'

'Step away from him, daughter,' Elrond commanded. He was standing on the ground in front of them. Arwen looked at Strider one last time before walking down the steps to stand at her father's side. Strider looked at them in disbelief even as the guards tied the end of the rope to the loop around his neck, tugging on it to make sure that it was tight and wouldn't separate once the trapdoor was released.

'Strider,' Elrond began, 'precisely one year ago I banished you from this realm and all elven realms. You were never to set foot on elven land under pain of death. Before you left, I removed from you the names to which you were born with and grew up under. I warned you of the consequences should you return, yet you have not heeded my warning and you have returned to us. For this you shall be hanged until dead. Do you wish to enter a plea for mercy?' Elrond asked.

Strider was confused this wasn't how it was supposed to happen. Elrond was not evil; he'd never harbored such dislike for mortals. He wanted to say something in his defense, but what could aid him, it was obvious that this Elrond was not the forgiving father that he had known in his childhood. He responded with silence and Elrond looked to the guards.

'Release the door,' he gave a slight nod. One of the guards moved behind Strider, to a lever and pushed it down. Before he knew it, the wood beneath him vanished and Strider felt himself falling only to be caught roughly by the neck, the rope he thought quickly. His feet dangled as he struggled to catch his breath; normally the quick fall and the rough pull of the rope would simply snap a victim's neck, ending their misery in seconds, but sometimes victims were forced to slowly suffocate, knowing that their next breath might be their last and that ultimately their life would end with one last exhalation of breath.

With every passing second Strider felt his breaths growing shallower and the grip on his neck tightening. He thought that the sight of a dying man struggling for each breath would have made the elves turn away, but they watched with growing anticipation, waiting anxiously for the man they hated so much to finally die.

Strider knew it was coming when he sucked in his last breath; it hardly filled his lungs. Already his brain was shutting down from lack of oxygen and his heart he knew would be next. As he let out his last feeble breath, he felt his heart take its last beat and stop as the darkness that had been threatening from the edges of his sight finally overtook him and delivered him into the eternal darkness.

* * *

-ducks as objects come flying overhead. Waves a white flag- 

Don't say I didn't warn you. But wait, don't leave just yet, there's more.

Reviewer's Responses:

**Strider's Girl**- sorry about the dream stuff; I really wish he would wake up too, I'm tired of him sleeping. But he's not very well, he needs his sleep. However when he gets better, I'll personally give you a huge drum and a big bucket of ice cold water.

**Ara, Goddess of the broken**- twistet? Mmm, never thought to describe it like that. But thanks, I was worried the plot was gone and I was just kind of rambling on.

**EmmaS**- wow, everyday for two weeks? Thanks for you persistence, I promise I will continue updating.

**sielge**- life or death, that is the ultimate question.

Once again, thanks to everyone who has reviewed and those who have stuck with me, stick around for a little longer to see what other madness I can come up with.


	21. Bitter Wind

The last section has been updated in preparation for adding the next story.

See chapter one for disclaimer because I don't own anything.

A bitter wind swept over him; in the distance he could hear someone talking.

'We found him in the forest, ada.

'He was tied up; someone beat him up pretty good,' another person added.

'We had to fight off some men to get to him, but I do not think they are the ones who did this.'

'He was unconscious when we found him; we tried to wake him, to call him back, but he was too far for us to help.'

'So we brought him back here. We did not think you would mind,' the person was nervous, even in his drowsy state Strider could sense it.

'Did you find him,' a deeper voice queried.

'No, there was no sign.' Strider heard a low grumbling, someone had muttered something under their breath. He was in the House of Elrond, that was the only thing that made sense and they were looking for him. Elrond wanted him, that was the deeper voice he rationalized. His mind was racing, what was he to do? His nightmare was coming true, or perhaps this was yet another dream. Perhaps he was still lying in the forest, dying a slow death and no one was going to come save him from his fate.

'Ada,' one of the twins questioned, Strider guessed that it was Elrohir for the elf was not as proficient in reading his father's moods; Elladan had always been better at it. He had always known what his father was thinking, even if his father wasn't there. Strider could remember his first hunting trip. Elladan and Elrohir took him out on his twelfth birthday. They were tracking a couple of deer when he tumbled down a hill. As he regained consciousness, the first thing he saw was Elrond, but he knew that the elven lord had not come on this trip; it had been Elladan, the elf had inherited his father's looks, every single one.

'It is nothing Elrohir,' Elrond eased his son's concern. He let out a sigh, pausing for a second as if to think and then he made a move; he was coming to the bed, Strider could sense it. Panic swept his thoughts, erasing them as he tried to figure out what to do. Feigning sleep was impossible for even as a child, Strider had been unable to fool Elrond. And he knew that he would not be able to escape, for he felt the weakness in his body and doubted whether he could even stand unaided. His only option, it seemed, was the one he feared the most, lying and waiting for whatever fury Elrond unleashed on him for he could never fool the elf. He would know the child he had raised; the man who had elected the path of exile rather than accept his fate as it was. He could sense Elrond nearing; he had to be still, totally still and then perhaps Elrond would leave him alone. Perhaps he wouldn't bother him, letting him rest for a while longer.

'You do not have to fool us,' Elrond sat on the edge of the bed. 'An elf has extraordinary senses, even as elflings, my own sons could not fool me. You can open your eyes, we will not harm you,' he spoke gently.

Strider thought for a second before slowly allowing his eyes to open. Instantly he was assaulted with lights that burned his eyes, causing his head to flare in pain and he shut his eyes once again.

'Elladan,' Elrond called to his son, 'close the curtains on the balcony. I am sorry,' he turned his attention back to the man before him. 'I did not think the light too bright; we elves are accustomed to it, it brings us much joy. Try opening your eyes again. The light should be more tolerable now.'

Through his closed eyelids, Strider could see that the room was indeed darker; no longer did the light intrude upon his eyes, filtering through the thin skin that covered his eyes. Obeying Elrond, he once again opened his eyes, slower this time though, for he did not wish to repeat his last experience; he could still feel the ache in his head from it. Elrond was right, the light was indeed more bearable now; it was not dark rather lightly lit enough for him to see that Elrond sat no more than two feet away from him.

'How are you feeling, sir,' Elrond asked, a hint of concern in his eyes. Strider was prepared to answer, when he stopped. Elrond had just called him sir; the sense of déjà vu was frightening. Did he not recognize him? Had Strider finally managed to fool the elf or was Elrond simply trying to lure him into a relaxed stated only to smite him down later when he was not expecting it.

'Elrohir, fetch a cup of water for our guest. His throat is probably dry from his illness,' Elrond didn't turn to see his son walk quickly from the room. 'You have been quite sick. My sons found you in the forest nearly a week ago.'

'Here, ada,' Elrohir returned quickly with a cup and a pitcher of water. Strider studied Elrond as he poured some of the water into the cup and set the pitcher on a nearby table.

'Elladan,' the younger elf stood on the other side of the bed, 'help me to lift him up so he can quench his thirst,' Elrond instructed his son. Elladan quickly moved closer, gently putting his hands under Strider to move him into a semi-sitting position. Elrond put the cup to the man's lips and tilted it until the water was gently flowing into his mouth. Suddenly Strider wanted the entire pitcher if only to sooth his aching throat; he hadn't realized exactly how sore it was until now, but the water helped. Elrond kept leveling the cup, allowing just a little water to pass his lips.

'I think that is enough for now,' Elrond took the cup away, setting it next to the pitcher as Elladan lowered him back to the bed. 'Do you think you can talk now?' his voice was gentle still, but Strider refused to let himself be fooled by it; he would not allow Elrond to catch him off guard; not this time. Strider nodded.

'Good,' Elrond's voice picked up a little, 'then perhaps you can answer my first question. How are you feeling,' he repeated the question.

'Sore,' Strider's voice was harsh.

'Well that is to be expected,' Elrond chuckled, 'you were nearly dead when my sons found you. I am quite surprised at your recovery, you are very lucky considering how badly wounded you were. But I have mended what I can, though I doubt you will be moving anytime soon.'

'What,' Strider croaked; he had never fully realized the extent of his injuries. 'How…' he started, but his voice caught in his throat, sending him into a coughing fit. Elrond moved quickly to ease him into a sitting position, easing his cough until it faded to a harsh breathing. Strider leaned heavily on Elrond; he was weak for the coughing had taken his breath away from him and he tried hard to catch his breath as Elrond lowered him on the bed again.

'You developed pneumonia from sitting in the cold rain; it was much worse when you arrived; you could barely draw a breath,' Elrond told him. 'You also had a break in your collarbone. Your nose and a few ribs were broken as well, but those have been set and will heal without a problem,' Elrond mentioned nothing of what the cloaked man had done to him, perhaps, Strider thought, he had done nothing. 'Your wounds will take some time to heal, but do not worry, you are welcome in this house. You many stay until you are healed,' silence filled the room as Strider wondered how to respond. Though he knew he should reveal his identity; that he should do the honorable thing, he was frightened. If Elrond was going to kill him, he reasoned, then revealing his identity would not help for the elf would be irrational in his thinking, not considering that he had not returned willingly.

'Can you tell me, sir,' Elrond broke the silence, forcing Strider to look at him, 'what is your name?' Strider paused, at a loss as to what to say. 'That is okay,' Elrond saw the look in his eyes, mistaking it for fear of not being able to remember, 'your name will come to you in time. Your body has been through a traumatic experience, it is not uncommon to forget some things. You should get some rest though,' he stood, looking to his sons. 'Come,' he beckoned them with his hand, 'we should leave him to seep in peace.' Elladan and Elrohir nodded as they led the way out of the room. Elrond was close behind them, when he stopped, turning back to the man on the bed.

'Do not hesitate to call if you are in need of something,' he advised. 'Elves have great hearing; we will hear your call no matter where we are.' Strider nodded in understanding. Elrond shut the door quietly as he left the room, leaving Strider alone to think. But the man found it near impossible as the darkness was beckoning him into sleep, calling for him to close his eyes and drift into the blissful abyss. He fought it, but the temptation soon overpowered him and his last thought was that this must be real.

A week later found Strider in the same room, sitting on the balcony. He was tired of lying in bed and though he was still weak, he had forced himself to get out of the bed and move painfully to the balcony. He knew that there was a chair out there; Elrond had made sure that every balcony had one for the elves loved the fresh air and often liked to sleep out there amongst nature. During the week Elrond had come back several times to check on him, each time asking if he recalled his name, but Strider kept up the charade Elrond had instigated.

From his seat on the balcony, he heard the door open. Elrond would not be happy to find that he had taken it upon himself to get out of bed; he never did like it when his patients decided that they were well enough to move.

'Sir,' Elrond called when he didn't find the man in bed.

'I'm out here,' Strider revealed his position. Elrond had done nothing but care for him; he hadn't shown a single sign of anger or aggression towards him. Strider was beginning to think he had misjudged the elf; his deception was eating at him. He had lied when he was a child, but this was different. He was violating a direct decree from Elrond; a deception that he knew would continue building until it all blew up in his face, leaving him at the mercy of Elrond with not a single bit of honor to his name.

Elrond parted the thin fabric that concealed the balcony and looked down at his patient, 'You should not be out of bed, especially not on this balcony in this weather. The cold is not good for your health, you are still recovering from a serious case of pneumonia; do you want to send yourself back into a coma?' This was the first time Elrond had even hinted at what had truly happened to him, as he rattled on scolding the man for his lack of care for his health. 'Honestly, I will never understand men,' he sighed in desperation. 'Come, I want you to get back into bed and rest. You must keep your strength up if you want to heal properly and…'

'Master Elrond,' Strider cut him off. The elven lord stopped, startled by his sudden decision to speak. 'I have deceived you,' his conscience had gotten the better of him as he realized that to die with honor is better than to die without it. 'My name is Aragorn Elessar.'

'I know,' Elrond was not surprised.

'Huh?' Aragorn rose in surprise; the elf lord had known all along and not done a thing; he had allowed him to deceive him. 'Why,' he asked.

'Why did I not kill you the moment you returned?' Elrond guessed the hidden meaning of the question. 'You cannot fool an elf. It is true that you are not the man you were when you left, but elves can sense things; you know that as well as I do.'

'What will you do, now that I have returned? Will you…' Strider broke off.

'Will I kill you now that you have confessed?' Elrond finished the question. 'That is yet to be decided.' Strider looked up at the sky; the stars were shining brightly tonight. He saw the Disappointment of Man; the House of Elendil he thought, that was what it was once called, before the line of kings was broken. It reminded him of why he had left, the conversation he had had with Elrond just a day after his twentieth birthday. He was the son of Arathorn, descended from the line kings living in exile for many hundred years.

'When you told me of my heritage, that Arathorn was my father and I was descended from a long line of kings, I couldn't believe it. I wanted nothing more than to live with you, with the family I loved. I just wanted a normal life. I cursed you, the entire elven race. I thought you had brought this upon me; I thought that you had robbed me of my life,' Elrond listen as Aragorn spoke to him.

'I didn't care about the banishment, if you hadn't given me a choice I would have left anyway. I just wanted to get as far away from you as possible and never see you again,' Strider paused, running his tongue on his lips before he continued. 'You came to me in a dream I had, I thought you had come after me and were going to ask me to come back. But you didn't, you left me there to die. Some time later a band of men found me and they accepted me into their group as an errand boy. To them I gave myself the name of Strider. They were rangers,' Elrond's eyes widened in surprise.

'They weren't the Dúnedain, but held the same beliefs as the northern rangers. In time I was invited to join them formally as a ranger. During the ordeal, when I was near death a lady came to me. She told me that it didn't matter what path I took, that every path would lead me to the throne of Gondor. She came to me again in the forest where I was found. I begged her for death, for though I'd considered her words I still thought that there was a way out. But then I saw my people and heard their pain.'

'Lord Elrond,' Aragorn paused, 'I wish to be their king, the one that can remove these torments form their lives, but I do not believe that I am able. I am not the man they seek. I do not understand this prophecy, but I know that by my lineage I am Aragorn Elessar in name though not in spirit or strength. I cannot yet be their king.'

Elrond sighed, smiling a little at the man's modesty, 'And you do not yet have to be. Your time with these rangers has taught you much, but you still have much more to learn before you can command a kingdom. You will learn more during the years you spend with the rangers and your people, then, when the time is right, you will have the strength and knowledge to be the king you were born to be. Until then, you shall remain Strider.'

He paused, looking at the man before him. He thought of the little boy brought by his mother eighteen years ago. Then he was frightened by having seen his dead father, now he was frightened by his own future. Perhaps he had misjudged Aragorn; he was already wise; he knew what he had to do, but recognized that he was not yet able.

'Come Aragorn,' Elrond pushed aside his thoughts much like he pushed aside the curtains, motioning for Aragorn to follow him into the room. It was now lit by a few candles, but there was still no one there. 'I have something of yours.'

'You do?' Aragorn asked curiously as he followed Elrond over to the dresser which he remembered was empty for this was just a guest room. But now a cloth rested on it, protecting something for it was loosely wrapped around an object, but Aragorn couldn't figure out what it was. Elrond picked it up gently, turning to face Aragorn as he unwound the cloth.

'In the year 1976 of this age, when Aranarth took the title of Chieftain of the Dúnedain, the heirlooms of Arnor were entrusted to me for me to safeguard until the time was right and an heir of Isildur should come forth to accept his responsibility, claiming his place in the Line of Isildur,' Elrond had now fully unwrapped the object, revealing a sheath and in the sheath was a sword.

'These are the Shards of Narsil, the sword carried by Elendil and forged by Telchar in the first age, broken in 3441 of the second age when, at the hands of Sauron, Elendil fell. His son, Isildur picked up the sword and used it to cut down Sauron. Isildur picked up the shards that lay next to his father, carrying them until he passed them onto his esquire, Ohtar, telling the man to guard it all costs. The shards, never forged anew, were passed among the line from father to son until Aranath placed them under my protection and I have cared for them until now. Aragorn, you are the thirty-ninth heir of Isildur, the line of kings has been maintained.

'I now give you the shards of Narsil. They alone will not make you a king, but will help you on your journey to that end. Use them as a reminder of those who have come before you; listen to the advice they give you as you make your way. In time, you will come to understand Aragorn. Until then all you have to do is what you are able and what you know in your heart to be just,' he placed the sword in Aragorn's hands, but did not let go.

'But I also give you a warning of caution. Evil is growing, Sauron has begun to gather his forces in Mordor; a second great battle will come to this earth before the ending of this age. You will be hunted for there are many who do not wish to see the line of kings restored. You must be cautious not to reveal yourself before the time is right, when you know it is right,' with that Elrond removed his hands from the sword, for it had now been claimed by an Heir of Isildur, who would rise up against Sauron and deliver his people from their plight.

'But for now,' Elrond continued, 'take rest for you are still weary for your journey.' Aragorn looked down at the sword in his hand; Elrond's words had not registered in his mind yet. 'Estel,' he spoke softly. Aragorn looked up, startled by the use of his childhood name. 'Set the sword aside and take rest, for there are many battles ahead of you.' This time Aragorn set the sword on the dresser and allowed Elrond to lead him to the bed. Aragorn winced as he climbed into the bed, but tried not to show it as Elrond pulled the covers up. It was as he was lying down that Aragorn realized Elrond has called him Estel.

'Lord Elrond,' he started, 'why do you yet call me Estel though I am your son no longer.'

'When you came into this house, I raised you as though you were my own and it will not matter how old you are for even when you are king I shall call you Estel for you are my son. You have given hope to a forsaken people,' Elrond finished and a silence fell over the room. But he didn't allow it to last for having made sure that Aragorn was comfortable, he moved to the door and was prepare to shut it when he heard Aragorn.

'Hannon le, ada,' he said as Elrond shut the door and darkness drew the Heir of Isildur into a dreamless sleep.


	22. Epilogue

Well this is it. Um the usual, chapter one has the disclaimer and remember the three R's.

No warning needed, it's safe.

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Epilogue

A lone rider dashed through the forest, his horse deftly jumping streams and fallen branches as he hurried to reach the gates; the plan had gone ill. When the gates came in sight, he sounded his horn, signaling to the guards that the gate should be opened for at last he had returned. As he rode through the gates, he gave no look to the guards, though, for he had much more important matters to attend to. His horse took him to the door of the fortress that was guarded by the gates. He dismounted, leaving his horse for a servant to attend to and rushed through the door, into a hallway when some called out.

'Stop,' the voice echoed through the vast hallway, amplifying the sound all the more. The rider stopped, the voice was behind him. Slowly he turned, facing the voice behind him. The voice belonged to a man, who was shrouded in a black cloak. The rider lowered the hood on his grey cloak in deference to the man.

'Did you find him,' the man in the black cloak asked.

'Yes,' the rider answered.

'And,' he was annoyed by the rider's brevity.

'He escaped.'

'How?'

'Some elves found the camp. They killed my men when I wasn't there,' the rider explained.

'You left?' he quickly grew infuriated by the rider's incompetence.

'Yes, I am sorry master,' the rider lowered his head.

'How did the rangers fare?' he changed the topic.

'They were surprised by our attack; I do not think they expected it.'

'And the captain,' he asked.

'Dead,' the rider answered looking up; there was no remorse at having struck down the defenseless man. 'The band is in shambles, it will be some time before they can regroup.'

'They are not our concern any longer,' he chided the rider.

'Yes master,' the rider nodded in understanding.

'Go now, leave,' he commanded.

'Yes master,' as the rider glanced up, a stream of light caught a metal brooch on his cloak and splintered across the smooth, carved surface revealing it to be a star with six points.

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So, that's it for Two Paths. Thanks to all who have reviewed and read the story. Your support has helped me to continue with the story. Now go to the next chapter to get a little treat for sticking with the story for so long. Oh and there will be a sequel to this, but it'll be a bit before it's up. Happy Holidays!! 


	23. Lord of the Pen

So this is the follow-up to Those Darn Fanfic Writers, the story that so many people seemed to like so much. Unfortunately I only have a few chapters written so you'll have to wait until about February (because of school) for it to be posted. This though is the first chapter, it's not really funny, but I have to set it up a little bit.

I don't own it, but I wish it did.

**Warning: It gets a little graphic at the end, so if you're not fond of the stuff, don't read it. Just a friendly warning.**

So read, relax, and tell me what you think (if I should continue or toss it)

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Lord of the Pen

The Pen Poem

Three for the elven-kings under the pixels  
Seven for the dwarf-lords in their halls of chips  
Nine for mortal men doomed to write  
One for the Dark Lady in her dark corner  
in the land of Ciffan where blood pools

One pen to write them all, one pen to hit them  
One pen to drag them all and in the darkness torture them  
in the land of Ciffan where blood pools  
(or until they cry uncle; which ever results in more angst)

Bilbo's Story

Bilbo Baggins was sitting at his desk, holding a pen in hand ready to stain the parchment in front of him with strange markings that would represent actual words and eventually an entire novel. But right now he was stuck and couldn't even fathom having an entire novel written anytime soon.

'Bilbo,' Frodo Baggins called out, 'I'm going out.' Bilbo muttered a yes before giving a word of caution.

'Be careful, m'boy. Don't look for trouble.' But trouble always seemed to find young Frodo. It seemed that he had an unnatural talent for finding trouble and then getting hopelessly caught up in it. In fact, it was public knowledge that Frodo had almost died seven times, three of which occurred in two months time. Total, those seven times set a new record for Hobbiton, one that had previously been held by Halfred Holman, a stout man of seventy years. It was a record, however, that Frodo was not proud of holding, especially not as a twenty-seven year old hobbit, not even considered an adult by Hobbit standards.

'Yes Bilbo,' Frodo answered, sighing a bit as he did so. His uncle's concern was touching, but he was rather annoyed by the constant worry and concern; the hovering over his every move just because he was able to get hurt by taking a leisurely walk in Sam's garden.

Bilbo listened for the door to shut before continuing with his writing, or rather his attempt at writing and as he did so his mind began to wander. His thoughts drifted first to food and he toyed with the idea of a second meal, but dismissed the idea for he really felt he must get a start on his novel. So he drifted to the next best thing for hobbits, nature. Hobbits loved nature; lush, green, and full of life as it was. Trees, Bilbo thought for no real reason, Hobbiton was littered with them. There were all sorts of trees; tall, narrow ones and short, fat ones; some who's branches arched to the sky in a beautiful pattern, while others' branches became gnarled and tangled up with one another until the tree looked like one huge knot.

Now, he thought to himself, if I recollect right, there's a tree very similar to that not more than three hour's walk away. Yes, it was all alone, standing by itself in the middle of a patch of grass that had a nasty habit of turning into a mud patch when it rained even the slightest bit.

Nevertheless, it was lovely out there, provided it was a nice day like today. It would be wonderful to take a trip out there, just to gaze at the beauty of nature, he thought, but no he couldn't, he had to work on his novel. And then something popped into his mind and he began to mark his blank parchment, telling the story of a young hobbit who went out one day for a nice, relaxing walk and got much more than he bargained for.

Bilbo was writing with such a ferocity that before long he had finished the first chapter and already had the hobbit battling with the forces of nature as he recklessly continued on his path despite the imminent storm that was dropping bolts of lightning in the background.

But alas the hobbit finally reached the tree. It was beautiful, its knotted and twisted branches stretching towards the sky. Without hesitation he began climbing, for if the tree was this magnificent, then surely its view was spectacular and it should be an easy climb what with the thick, contorted branches. Climbing, however, proved to be more difficult than first imagined and his the problem lied in reaching the first branch for even if he stood on the tips of his toes it was still out of his grasp. But not one to give up easily, he tried jumping.

Huht. He mumbled something his uncle wouldn't be pleased to hear. If only he could jump a little higher… huht… he could reach the branch, but he landed back on the ground. One last…huht… time he thought. He felt the coarse bark of the branch as he went up.

Clasping his hands quickly, he hoped to feel the bark of the branch, but felt nothing except the air as it escaped from his grasp. He'd almost made it, just once more. Huht. This time he leapt with all his might and was rewarded with the feel of rough bark in his grips.

He then began to swing himself, his goal now was to get on top of the branch. His palms grew sweaty with each swing and he began to feel his grip lessen when he, in one fluid motion, flipped himself on the top of the branch. He sat for a moment to gaze at the view and regain his posture. He could see his house from here, and something else, something familiar. If only he could get a little higher, he thought reaching out to grab a higher branch, he would be able to find out what it was.

His fists closed around a branch and he pulled himself up. Hearing a low creak, he stopped and looked around. When nothing seemed to be wrong, he chalked it up to the wind and began to pull himself up again. But he heard the creak again and it was louder this time. Suddenly it stopped only to be replaced by a snap which was accompanied by a sudden feeling of weightlessness.

Strider had seen the danger before the hobbit jumped and began to reveal himself. As he scrambled up the side of the small ditch he'd been hiding in, he tried to call out, but let out a harsh cough instead as something got caught in his throat. After a few failed attempts at trying to ascend the muddy slope he finally made it, though not without cursing yesterday's hard rain.

He looked up just in time to see the hobbit jump- the warning was too late, but he could catch the falling halfling if he hurried. But as the hobbit began his plummet to the ground, Aragorn felt his boots loose traction. Instinctively, he put out his arms to balance himself for he desperately wished not to get muddy again.

The last time he'd gotten muddy was on a month's trek with Legolas and the prissy elf insisted that he bath after having rolled down a hill and collected not only grass stains, but dirt caked in more places than one could imagine and apparently rolled in something that, as Legolas described it, smelled worse than three hundred sweaty humans packed into the Prancing Pony in the stifling heat of summer right before a thunderstorm and none of them had come near anything that even resembled water in the last two weeks.

When he refused Legolas had tossed him into a nearby river. When Strider emerged, or rather didn't emerge Legolas jumped in to save him. What he brought out was a screaming toddler with the conscious of a twenty-eight year old Aragorn, but none of the intelligence. Legolas had joked that the only differences were age and size. Strider didn't take too kindly to that and tried to walk off only to discover he couldn't fend off a young wolf not more than a foot and a half high. Legolas rescued him and took him to Lord Elrond where he was restored to his normal self, but not before becoming the laughing stock of Imladris.

After that incident Strider had no desire to see the world through the eyes of a two year old again for he'd gained nothing from it but humility and a nasty cold which forced him to spend an entire week in bed at the mercy of his brothers' constant teasing thus prompting him to beg his father to drug him for the remainder of the week, but that only earned him another week in bed and a tea that forced him to stay awake.

But alas, the flailing arms failed to help, rather they provided a source of entertainment for anyone who happened to be watching, though no one was for the storm was more than imminent now and no one with any sense of self preservation would remain outside for Strider's impromptu Ranger of the North Show. Without any real knowledge of it, Strider slipped again and landed back first in a puddle of mud. As the thick substance splattered on his face, he let out a few dwarvish curses his brothers had taught him.

No doubt they'd be pleased by his memory. It was then that he heard the hobbit hit the ground with a soft thump and once again cursed for he was too late, but he should see to the injuries no less. Determined to help, he started to push off the ground with his hands but got no further than a few inches before his back erupted in pain. Wincing, he ignored the pain and pushed himself up higher, biting his lips as the pain magnified.

Halfway up the pain overwhelmed him and he fell back to the ground, his breath coming in short gasps as bolts of pain shot through his back and collided with his spine, creating mini explosions of pain. He let out another curse, father would not be happy, just last week he'd be released from the elven lord's care. Legolas had brought him home with a nasty rash and a terrible cough. The cough developed into a cold and from there progressed into full-blown pneumonia, curse human mortality.

Pushing those thoughts away, he resolved to get to the hobbit and help him in whatever way he could. With some degree of discomfort, he forced himself onto his stomach and began a slow and painful crawl to where the hobbit lay. But he got no more than a few feet when he began to sense that he was being followed and whatever it was, was getting closer.

Although it caused him great pain, he turned his head just in time to see a wolf pounce on his back. He let out a loud cry as the claws dug into his back. He could feel its hot breath on his neck and closed his eyes, waiting for the yellowed teeth to sink into his flesh, but nothing came and soon the wolf's claws relaxed and it stepped back a bit. Strider felt a thick, warm fluid drop into the deep cuts on his back and opened his eyes, letting out another curse at the sight that greeted him.

Over by the hobbit there were two wolves preparing to tear the halfling apart limb by limb. Strider cried out, attempting to scare the wolves away, but to no avail. The wolf on his back moved forward again, its claws pulling the skin tight and creating tension until the skin finally broke and the claw began to pierce the skin, sinking further in as the wolf edged forward.

With each successive puncture, Strider's pain increased until black spots began to dance across his vision and his mind grew thick with haze. He looked towards the halfling; another wolf had joined the group, Strider noticed that he was bigger than the others and moved a lot more. With more curiosity than fear he watched as the wolf swung around rising to its hind feet. Strider tried again to free himself from the wolf on his back but as he tried to rise, the wolf's claws tore at his back once again and he felt his flesh tear before passing out.


End file.
